GEETEUDE. 


BY 

E.    M.    SEWELL, 


"  Turn  to  private  life 
And  social  neighborhood ;  look  we  to  ourselves, 
A  light  of  duty  shines  on  ever}'  da}- 
F<w  aU."  The  Excursion. 


m:\v  FORK: 

I).     APPLET OS     AND    COM]' ANY, 

i.  3,   i  m  5  BOND  8TEEET. 

1881. 


Prt 


GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

It  was  a  calm  bright  morning  in  the  beginning  of  September. 
The  brilliancy  of  the  summer  tints  had  scarcely  begun  to  fade, 
and  the  warm  breath  of  the  south  breeze,  as  it  wandered  among 
the  foliage  of  the  trees,  and  played  with  the  flickering  shadows 
on  the  turf,  gave  no  indication  that  the  glory  of  the  year  was 
departing.  But  there  is  something  in  the  knowledge  that  au- 
tumn is  near,  which  will  often  cast  a  shade  over  the  fair  face  of 
nature,  from  the  contrast  between  the  charm  of  its  present  beauty 
and  the  desolation  which  we  feel  to  be  at  hand:  lovely  though 
it  may  be,  we  view  it  with  something  of  sadness  mingled  with  our 
pleasure,  for,  like  the  last  sweet  smile  of  a  cherished  friend,  we 
are  conscious  that,  even  while  we  are  yet  gazing,  it  is  passing 
away  from  our  sight. 

And  perhaps  it  was  a  thought  such  as  this,  which  caused  the 
sigh  that  escaped  from  Edith  Courtenay,  as  she  stood  at  the 
library  window  of  Elsham  Priory,  and  looked  upon  the  sunny 
prospect  before  her. 

The  scene  was  one  of  quiet,  home  beauty,  often  to  be  met  with 
in  England.  To  the  right  lay  a  cheerful  village,  partly  embosom- 
ed in  trees,  and  partly  clustering  around  the  base  of  a  steep, 
conical  lull,  which  had  once  been  the  station  of  a  Roman  encamp- 
ment.  The  church,  with  its  spire  pointing  to  the  blue  heavens, 
and  its  white  tombstones  shining  in  the  morning  sun,  stood  near, 
upon  another  hill  of  less  considerable  elevation;  while,  imme- 
diately adjoining,  stretched  the  woods  ami  lawns  of  Allinghain 
Park,  long  in  the  possession  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Courtenay 
family.  The  house,  an  edifice  of  Grecian  architecture,  with  no 
pretensions  to  beauty  beyond  a  handsome  Ionic  colonnade. 
ahnosl  fronted  the  Priory;  and  to  tin-  left,  the  eye,  after  passing 
over  a  few  miles  of  wooded  cp'intry,  rested  upon  the  outline  <•>' 


857112 


GERTRUDE. 


the  low  hills,  which,  receding  one  behind  the  other,  formed  a  bar- 
rier between  the  valley  of  Elsham  and  the  sea. 

The  Priory  of  Elsham  existed  now  only  in  name  ;  hs  rich 
endowments  and  lands  having,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth, 
shared  the  fate  of  the  other  church  properties  which  were  sacri- 
ficed to  the  rapacity  of  that  monarch  and  his  favorites.  From 
that  time  the  building,  deserted  by  its  former  inmates,  gradually 
fell  into  decay,  and  the  crumbling  walls  at  length  entirely  disap- 
peared, as  the  stones  were  taken  to  form  barns  and  stables  for 
the  farm,  which,  in  after  years,  occupied  the  spot  where  the  Pri- 
ory had  stood.  The  modern  Priory,  consisting  of  a  square  front 
of  recent  date,  and  a  long  wing  erected  about  a  hundred  years 
before,  had  no  connection  with  the  old  religious  house,  except 
that  of  bearing  the  same  designation.  It  was  of  moderate  size, 
containing  the  usual  number  of  apartments, — a  library  and  draw- 
ing-room opening  into  each  other,  a  good  dining-room,  a  small 
study,  and  bedrooms  in  proportion  ;  and  in  its  general  appear- 
ance gave  signs  of  comfort,  opulence,  and  good  taste  ;  the  latter 
being  principally  exhibited  in  the  quiet,  unostentatious  style  of 
the  furniture,  and  the  skill  with  which  the  few  acres  of  pleasure- 
ground  adjoining  the  house  were  laid  out,  so  as  to  afford  the 
greatest   variety,   and   command    the    most    striking   points    of 


view 


To  the  world  it  might  have  seemed  that,  with  such  a  home,  and 
in  the  possession  of  youth,  health,  friends,  and  affluence,  Edith 
Courtenay  could  have  had  no  cause  to  sigh  ;  and  certainly  there 
were  no  traces  of  sorrow  in  her  open  brow,  her  deep  blue  eye,  or 
the  half  smile  upon  her  lip.  At  nineteen,  she  was  too  young  to 
have  experienced  the  cares  of  the  world,  and  too  buoyant  in  spirit 
to  feel  more  than  a  passing  dread  of  its  trials  ;  but  she  was  not 
loo  young  to  have  had  experience  in  those  petty  every-day  annoy- 
ances which  are  often  mercifully  sent  us  in  ea'rly  life,  to  prepare 
us  for  the  real  afflictions  that  await  us  in  after  years  ;  and  much 
as  she  might  have  been  envied  by  many,  there  were  circumstan- 
ces in  her  situation  which  might  justly  have  caused  them  to 
hesitate  before  they  pronounced  her  happy.  On  this  morning, 
however,  the  shade  soon  passed  from  her  mind.  It  was  onfy 
caused  by  the  remembrance  of  the  summer  pleasures  which 
were  now  almost  gone  ;  and  when  she  joined  her  mother  and 
her  two  sisters  at  the  breakfast  table,  her  voice  was  the  most 
cheerful,  and  her  smile  the  gayest  of  the  little  party. 

"  We  are  very  late  this  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  look- 
ins  at  her  watch.  "  Do,  Jane,  go  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
tell  me  exactly  what  o'clock  it  is  by  the  time-piece." 

"  It  is  not  much  later  than  usual,  mamma,"  replied  Jane,  in  a 
languid  lone,  and  not  offering  to  move  ;  "  I  dare  say  your  watch 
is  quite  rignt." 


GERTRUDE. 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Jane,"  said  Edith,  "  it  is  just  now  half- 
past  nine  ;  and  I  have  been  waiting  at  least  half  an  hour." 

"  Well !"  said  Jane,  rather  sharply,  "  I  suppose  it  will  not  kill 
you,  even  if  you  have." 

"  No,  not  kill  me,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  hut  it  is  very  inconve- 
nient :  I  ought  to  be  at  the  school  by  ten." 

"  The  school  again  to-day,"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  who  had 
hitherto  been  busily  employed  in  making  breakfast ;  "  I  thought 
you  were  there  yesterday." 

"  So  I  was  ;  but  that  is  no  precise  reason  why  I  should  not  be 
there  again  to-day." 

'•  No, "-replied  Charlotte,  with  a  satirical  smile,  "  not  .n  your 
case,  though  it  might  be  in  another  person's.  All  the  world  are 
not  so  devoted  to  schools  as  yourself." 

Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  was  still  examining  her  watch,  again 
spoke :  "  Charlotte,  my  dear,  I  am  certain  that  I  am  at  least  ten 
minutes  too  fast,  and  it  really  makes  me  uncomfortable  ;  I  wish 
you  would  look  at  the  time-piece." 

"  In  a  minute,  mamma,"  said  Charlotte  ;  and  she  continued 
to  pour  out  the  tea,  and  then  proceeded  to  cut  bread  for  the  party  ; 
while  Edith  went  to  obtain  the  desired  information.  "Ah! 
thank  you,  my  love,"  said  her  mother,  when  she  returned ;  "  I 
thought  I  was^wrong.  It  quite  disturbs  me  in  the  night  if  I 
fancy  that  my  watch  is  out  of  order  ;  and  last  niglit  I  could 
hardly  sleep  at  all  ;   I  was  so  dreadfully  nervous." 

"  Did  you  try  Gertrude's  remedy  V  asked  Edith  ;  "  it  did  you 
good  before." 

"  Yes,  so  it  did  ;  every  thing  that  comes  from  Geitrude  does 
me  good ;  but  it  was  not  mixed,  and  I  was  obliged  to  go  without 
it." 

Edith  looked  reproachfully'  at  her  sisters.  "  I  was  so  busy 
yesterday,"  she  said,  "at  the  school  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 
village  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  depended  upon  you  to  attend  to  it." 

"  1  forgot  it,"  replied  Charlotte  ;  "  and  I  had  no  time.  Miss 
Forester  called  and  paid  a  long  visit,  and  I  was  only  able  to 
have  a  few  minutes'  walk  before  dinner." 

"  I  wish  Gertrude  would  make  me  sleep  too,"  said  Jane.  "  1 
never  have  more  than  three  hours  rest  at  once,  ai  d  I  am  as  tired 
this  morning  as  if  I  had  walked  ten  miles  :  I  am  s  ire  Mr.  Hum- 
phries cannot  understand  my  case." 

"  Can  any  one  V  asked  Charlotte,  whose  brilliant  color  and 
s-parkling  eyes  differed  bo  entirely  from  Jane's  sallow  complexion, 
and  look  of  general  ill  health,  that  the  family  likeness  was 
Bcarcely  discernible.  "  You  have  as  many  case's  as>  there  arp 
days  m  the  year :  which  is  it  this  morning  !  (lout,  iheumatism 
tic  douloureux,  or  ague  !  or  is  it  all  conjoined — the  essence  ot 
ei  eiy  complainl  thai  e\  er  was  heard  of  f" 


GERTRUDE. 


"  I  wish  you  could  feel  as  I  do,  only  for  ten  minutes,"  said  Jane 

"Thank  you,  I  dare  say  I  should  survive  it ;  but  remember 
Jane,  what  1  complain  of,  is  not  your  taking  possession  of  any 
one  pet  malady,  but  making  a  monopoly  of  the  whole  race  of 
diseases, — monopoly  of  illness  implies  monopoly  of  pity  ;  and 
really  I  have  so  many  little  secret  griefs  of  my  own,  that  I  must 
insist  upon  having  a  share  in  the  commiseration  our  friends  be- 
stow upon  you." 

"  I  would  not  give  you  much  for  the  whole,"  said  Jane  ,  "  there 
is  not  one  person  in  a  hundred  who  knows  what  real  pity  means." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  answered  Charlotte  ;  "  but  for  every-day  pur- 
poses make-believe  pity  does  just  as  well." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Edith,  "  nothing  that  is  make-believe 
can  ever  be  of  any  value." 

"  Is  that  to  be  your  motto  all  your  life,  Edith  1"  asked  Char- 
lotte ;  "  because,  if  so,  you  had  better  retire  from  society  at  once, 
for  every  one  knows  it  is  made  up  of  make-believes." 

"  That  is  one  of  your  misanthropical  notions,  Charlotte,  which 
you  hold  from  mere  perversity.  I  know  that  fashionable  society 
often  is  pretence  and  show  ;  but  I  never  will  think  that  there  is 
no  sincerity  to  be  met  with  in  a  quiet  country-place  like  this.*' 

"  Miss  Forester,  for  instance,"  said  Jane,  sarcastically. 

"She  is  an  exception,  and  of  course  proves. the  rule.  In 
London,  I  dare  say  she  might  not  be  remarkable  ;  but  here,  the 
very  fact  of  your  bringing  her  forward,  shows  that  she  is  differ- 
ent from  her  neighbors." 

1  Well,"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  "I  am  thankful  to  say,  that  I 
am  neither  philosophical  nor  metaphysical.  I  am  willing  to  take 
the  world  as  I  find  it ;  and  if  people  are  civil  to  me,  it  never 
enters  my  head  to  analyze  their  motives." 

"  But,"  said  Edith, "  there  is  no  occasion  for  you  to  do  it ;  you 
determine  beforehand  that  they  are  all  interested  and  selfish." 

"  Yes  ;  and  1  find  it  is  much  for  my  happiness  in  the  end  :  1 
am  never  disappointed  in  any  one." 

"  Indeed,  Charlotte,"  said  Edith  gravely,  "  I  wish  you  would 
not  talk  in  such  a  random  way  ;  because  I  am  sure,  when  per- 
sons are  in  the  habit  of  saying  the  same  things  continually,  they 
at  last  believe  them  to  be  true." 

"  But  that  is  just  my  case,"  replied  Charlotte.  "  I  do  believe 
them  to  be  true,  and  therefore  I  say  them ;  and  I  am  not  alone 
in  in v  opinion  ;  Jane  talks  in  the  same  way  sometimes.  Besides, 
Edith,  we  are  older  than  you,  and  must  know  more  of  the  world." 

"  A  year  or  two  can  make  but  little  difference,"  replied  Edith, 
'  and  if  you  were  a  hundred  years  older,  I  should  not  agree  with 
you.  I  will  give  you  some  examples,  and  prove  to  you  that  you 
must  be  wronw.  What  do  you  say  to  Edvard  and  Gertrude  ! 
You  do  not  think  them  hypocrites]" 


GERTRUDE. 


"  Gertrude  a  hypocrite  !  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay 
looking  up  from  the  newspaper  she  had  been  reading  ;  "  what  dc 
you  mean  V 

"Nothing!  ma'am,"  replied  Charlotte,  shortly;  and  then 
unheeding  the  interruption,  she  went  on:  "You  will  use  such 
harsh  words,  Edith ;  no  one  pretends  to  say  that  all  the  world 
are  hypocrites,  but  only  that  there  is  a  certain  gloss,  a  French 
polish,  over  their  words  and  actions,  which  does  not  hide,  but 
exaggerates.  As  for  Gertrude,  I  always  put  her  out  of  the  ques- 
tion when  I  am  talking  of  people  in  general.  I  suppose  she  is — 
yes,  she  must  be — sincere." 

"  And -Edward,"  said  Edith,  eagerly,  "  you  do  not  doubt  him  ]" 

"  No,"  said  Charlotte,  "  not  doubt  exactly — he  is  sincere  at 
the  moment  he  is  speaking,  but  what  he  says  is  not  quite  to  be 
depended  upon." 

"  Oh !  Charlotte,"  exclaimed  Edith  indignantly,  while  the 
color  mounted  to  her  cheeks,  as  she  heard  such  an  opinion  ex- 
pressed of  her  only  brother — the  very  idol  of  her  imagination. 

"  You  need  not  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  be  angry,"  said  Char- 
lotte coolly.  '•  Edward  is  my  brother  as  well  as  yours,  so  I  have 
an  equal  reason  for  wishing  him  to  be  perfection  ;  but  I  am  not 
1*1 1 n e J  ;  I  can  see,  and  so  can  every  one  else  who  watches  him, 
that  he  is  inconsistent.     You  could  see  it,  if  you  would." 

"  It  may  be  either  can  or  will,  which  is  the  cause,"  replied 
Edith  ;  "  but  I  am  certain  I  do  not  see  it.  I  wish  you  had  heard 
his  conversation  with  me  when  he  was  last  here;  and  all  his 
plans  for  doing  good." 

'•  Excellent  they  were,  of  course,  beginning  with  the  rebuild 
ing  of  the  burnt  cottages  at  the  quarry,  and  ending  with  a  new 
cliun-h  onTorrington  Heath." 

••And  the  intermediate  degrees  being  infant,  national,  and 
Sunday  schools,  upon  Edith's  most  approved  principles,"  said 
Jane. 

'•  You  may  sneer  at  me  if  you  will,"  exclaimed  Edith  angrily, 
"  but  if  only  a  fourth  part  of  the  world  were  as  good  as  Ed- 
ward  " 

"It  would  be  a  very  different  world  from  what  it  is,"  said 
Charlotte.  "]  quite  grant,  Edith,  that  to  hear  Edward  talk, 
you  would  believe  him  an  angel ;  and  that  to  see  him  act,  you 
would  think  him  a  superior  mortal;  but  I  must  contend  for  it, 
th  il  he  does  not  Bhow  to  you  or  to  the  world  the  average  stand- 
8  d  of  his  principles:  every  one  sees  the  best  of  him  at  firs! 
t." 

'•  I  thought  you  were  no  philosopher,"  said  Edith,  in  a  sup- 
pressed tone  of  extreme  annoyance. 

'*  It  does  not  require  inueli  philosophy  to  see  the  faults  of 
one's  brothei  tcrs,"  replied  Charlotte. 


10  GERTRU.DE. 


"Nor  one's  own  either,"  said  Edith,  recovering  herself:  "] 
know  that  1  have  felt  angry,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it." 

Charlotte  scarcely  noticed  the  apology,  hut,  rising  from  the 
break  fast  "table,  began  to  search  among  the  books  for  something 
she  had  mislaid. 

"At  what  time  shall  you  be  able  to  practise  with  me  1"  she 
said  ;  "  we  sang  that  trio  wretchedly  last  night,  and  really  I  can- 
not exhibit  myself  in  the  same  way  again." 

"  You  must  practise  without  me,"  said  Edith  ;  "  I  shall  not 
he  home  ti'1  half-past  twelve  ;  and  directly  after  luncheon,  I  am 
going  with  Mrs.  Grantley  to  see  nurse  Philips." 

"  Do  let  nurse  Philips  rest  for  to-day,"  said  Jane  ;  "  you  were 
with  her  only  three  days  ago." 

"  Six  at  the  least,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  besides  I  have  promised." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,"  said  Jane,  "  all  promises  must  be  kept — 
those  made  at  home  excepted.  You  said  you  would  try  over  the 
trio,  and  some  of  the  duets  besides." 

"  Well,  so  I  will,  by  and  by  ;  but  I  must  go  now,  or  I  shall  be 
dreadfully  late." 

"  Is  Edith  gone  1"  asked  Mrs.  Courtenay,  looking  round  when 
her  daughter  had  left  the  room. 

"Yes,  to  the  school,  mamma,"  replied  Charlotte. 

"  But  she  told  me  she  would  show  me  how  to  do  the  knitting 
from  the  pattern  which  Gertrude  sent.  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
manage  it  without  her." 

"  You  understand  it,  Jane,  don't  you  ?"  said  Charlotte. 

"  Yes  ;  that  is,  I  tried  it  once  ;  but  I  should  not  be  able  to 
begin  ;  and  I  must  finish  this  book,  for  it  must  be  sent  away  to- 
day." 

"  It  would  not  be  much  trouble  to  try  the  work,"  said  Char- 
lotte ;  "  and  if  you  succeed,  mamma  will  be  able  to  go  on." 

"  Well,  1  will  see  about  it  presently,"  replied  Jane  ;  and  she 
went  to  fetch  her  book,  and  then,  seating  herself  by  the  drawing- 
•oom  window,  forgot  her  mother's  wishes  till  again  reminded  of 
them  by  Charlotte. 

Edith  pursued  her  walk  to  the  school  in  no  very  enviable 
state  of  mind  ;  for  although  daily  accustomed  to  such  a  conversa- 
tion as  had  passed,  use  had  not  yet  become  a  second  nature. 
She  differed  with  her  sisters  upon  almost  every  point,  both  of 
principle  and  taste  ;  and  the  irritation  of  perpetual  disagreement 
was  at  times  more  than  she  could  bear  with  temper. 

She  felt  something  like  degradation  also,  in  thinking  of  the 
impression  a  stranger  would  have  received  from  the  tone  hi 
a  Inch  she  had  been  tempted  to  reply  to  Charlrtte's  observations  ; 
and  her  conscience  bitterly  reproached  her  for  having  broken  the 
serious  resolution,  made  only  a  few  hours  before,  of  endeavor- 
hig  if  possible  to  spend  that  one  day  without  yielding  to  provo 


GERTRUDE.  1  1 


cation.  Perhaps  on  any  other  subject  she  might  have  been  in- 
vulnerable ;  but  to  speak  against  Edward,  was  to  touch  that 
which  was  nearest  and  dearest  to  her  in  the  world;  and  if  her 
self-accusation  had  been  less  sincere,  she  might  have  found  some 
excuse  for  her  annoyance  in  the  greatness  of  the  trial ;  but,  as  it 
was,  she  was  too  vexed  with  herself  to  complain  of  her  sister,  ^r 
to  feel  pained,  as  she  often  did,  at  the  contrast  between  what  her 
home  really  was,  and  what  she  knew  it  ought  to  be. 

The  school  in  some  measure  diverted  her  thoughts  from  her- 
self. The  mistress  was  ill,  and  she  had  engaged  to  take  charge 
of  the  children  for  an  hour  and  a  half  every  day*  till  a  proper 
substitute  could  be  found  ;  and  the  necessity  of  attending  to  them 
had  a  great  effect  in  restoring  her  equanimity  ; — as  she  forgot 
for  the  time  that  there  were  any  other  persons  in  the  world  be- 
sides tiresome  Anne  Godfrey,  and  dull  little  Sarah  Plowden,  and 
the  rest  of  the  half  mischievous,  half  frightened  tribe  of  children, 
whom  she  was  endeavoring  to  reduce  into  something  like  order. 
The  morning  passed  quickly  away,  for  Edith  had  an  innate  love 
of  teaching  and  managing,  and  what  to  others  would  have  been 
the  most  tiresome  of  all  tiresome  tasks,  was  to  her  only  a  subject 
of  interest ;  and  she  felt  sorry  when  at  twelve  o'clock  the  chil- 
dren were  dismissed,  and  she  was  obliged  to  return  to  the 
Priory — to  her  mother's  uncongeniality,  and  Jane's  peevishness, 
and  Charlotte's  satire.  The  feeling  was  not  exactly  acknowl- 
edged, but  it  caused  her  unconsciously  to  linger  on  the  road,  and 
to  indulge  in  a  day-dream  of  happiness,  which  could  never  be  re- 
alized, but  in  which  her  two  sisters  had  no  share.  There  was 
another  indeed,  who  was  almost  in  Edith's  visions  of  enjoyment, 
but  she  was  absent — living  with  an  invalid  aunt  of  her  father's, 
who  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her  when  she  was  about  fourteen,  and 
had  persuaded  her  parents  to  part  with  her,  on  the  promise  that 
she  should  inherit  all  her  little  property  at  her  death.  The 
temptation  might  not  to  some  have  been  very  great,  since  Mrs. 
Heathfield's  income  was  not  more  than  five  hundred  a  year;  but 
it  would  at  least  be  a  comfortable  provision  for  Gertrude,  and 
Mr.  Courtenay  was  too  much  harassed  with  family  cares  to  allow 
a  dislike  to  parting  with  his  child  to  interfere  with  a  plan  which 
promised  well  for  her  worldly  advantage. 

How  Gertrude  was  to  he  educated,  or  what  principles  were 
to  be  instilled  into  her  mind,  he  never  inquired.  Though  pos- 
ed of  first-rate  talents  himself,  he  considered  them  of  but  little 
importance  in  a  woman.  He  had  married  a  young  and  very 
pretty  girl,  devoid  of  any  cultivation  of  mind  beyond  the  superfi- 
cial acquirements  of  the  day  ;  and  she  had  implicitly  obeyed  hia 
orders,  and  had  never  thwarted    his   wishes  even  by  a  look  of  ill 

humor ;  and  though  now  and  then  irritated  by  her  weak  simpli- 
city, on  the  whole  he  was  contented; — what  satisfied  him  mual 


12  gertrlde. 

i»f  course  satisfy  every  one  else, — he  asked  nothing  more  than 
that  Gertrude  should  possess  lady-like  manners,  a  mode  rale 
share  of  accomplishments,  a  quiet,  easy  temper,  and  five  hundred 
a  year.  With  these  advantages  she  would  pass  through  life 
easily,  and  would  die  surrounded  by  friends  and  comforts ;  and 
then — out  of  what  was  to  come  afterwards  Mr.  Courtenay  never 
thought.  This  world  was  his  home,  lis  hope,  his  happiness.  In 
the  existence  of  another  he  believed — he  had  been  taught  to  do 
so  from  his  childhood — and  in  occasional  moments  of  weariness 
he  could  discourse  eloquently  upon  the  vanity  of  earthly  enjoy- 
ments ;  and  when  grieved  at  the  loss  of  a  friend,  he  could  sigh, 
and  express  a  hope  of  meeting  him  again  in  heaven  :  but  when 
the  words  were  repeated  the  feeling  was  gone  ;  and  Mr.  Courte- 
nay returned  to  his  easy  chair,  and  his  well-stored  library,  and 
forgot  that  if  the  heaven  of  which  he  had  spoken  were  ever  to  l>e 
reached,  it  must  be  through  the  strait  gate  of  penitence  and 
faith,  and  by  the  narrow  way  of  daily  self-denial. 

If  left  to  her  father's  care,  Gertrude  Courtenay  would  proba 
bly  have  grown  up  the  very  counterpart  of  himself,  but  only 
with  superior  energy  of  mind.  She  had  his  generosity,  his  good 
temper,  and  his  high  sense  of  honor  ;  but  she  had  also  his  pride, 
his  love  of  command,  his  keen  sense  of  the  importance  of  the 
world's  applause,  and  bis  delight  in  every  thing  that  was  beau- 
tiful and  luxurious.  And  in  her  own  home  these  feelings  would 
have  been  fostered  to  the  utmost  ;  but  in  the  retirement  of  a 
country  village,  with  no  companion  but  her  aunt,  there  was  little 
opportunity  for  their  development ;  and  before  she  was  placed 
in  any  scenes  of  greater  temptation,  she  had  learned  to  study  her 
own  heart,  and  to  pray  and  strive  against  its  weaknesses.  In 
what  way  the  principle  of  religion  had  first  taken  root  m  her 
mind,  it  would  hive  been  almost  impossible  for  her  to  have  told. 
It  had  sprung  up,  unnoticed  even  by  herself,  in  constant  inter- 
course with  one  whose  minutest  actions  were  governed  by  its 
rules ;  for  although  Mrs.  Heathfield,  from  illness  and  natural  re- 
serve, but  seldom  conversed  upon  the  subject,  there  was  an  in- 
fluence in  her  meek,  uncomplaining  resignation,  and  her  self-de- 
nying charity,  which  it  was  impossible  for  a  mind  so  thoughtful 
as  Gertrude's  to  withstand. 

Perhaps,  indeed,  the  influence  was  the  greater,  from  the  very 
fact  of  there  being  something  of  silence  and  mystery  connected 
with  it.  When  first  taken  to  Farleigh  Cottage,  Gertrude  felt  as 
if  removed  into  a  new  world;  new,  not  merely  in  its  external 
appearance,  but  in  the  motives  and  feelings  of  the  persons  who 
inhabited  it;  and  when  the  first  grief  at  separation  from  her 
home  had  subsided,  she  found  daily  cause  for  increasing  wonder. 
Her  aunt  watched  over  her  carefully  by  directing  her  studies  , 
but  she  was  too  unwell  actually  to  superintend  them.     She  could 


GERTltTJDE.  13 

»j.  (y  recommend  the  books  she  wished  her  to  read,  and  give  her 
reasons  for  admiring  them ;  and  then  Gertrude  was  left  to  think 
by  herself  upon  the  difference  between  her  father's  taste  and  her 
aunt's ;  and  to  endeavor,  if  possible,  to  discover  which  was 
based  upon  the  highest  principles.  The  answer,  if  left  to  her 
own  inclination,  would  have  been  in  her  father's  favor;  but,  to 
counteract  the  force  of  an  early  impression,  she  had  daily  before 
her  eyes  the  picture  of  patience,  humility,  entire  freedom  from 
selfishness,  and  a  thoughtful  care  which  never  forgot  even  the 
most  distant  objects  of  compassion.  Gertrude  deeply  felt  her 
aunt's  goodness ;  she  looked  on  it  as  on  something  surpassingly 
strange, -almost  unearthly  ;  and  she  could  not  but  believe  that 
the  subjects  which  interested  her,  must  be  in  themselves  fax 
superior  to  all  others.  And  so  the  first  bias  was  given  in  favor 
of  religion  ;  and  the  seed  which  had  been  implanted  at  baptism, 
and  then  buried  beneath  the  distractions  and  frivolities  of  a  care- 
less education,  grew  up  by  imperceptible  degrees  into  a  strength 
and  beauty  unknown  only  to  its  possessor. 

But  notwithstanding  the  quiet  peacefulness  of  Gertrude's  life 
at  Farleigh,  her  heart  still  clung  to  the  recollection  of  her  own 
home,  and  her  childish  pleasures,  with  a  tenacity  which  neither 
time  nor  distance  could  entirely  destroy.  There  were  many 
solitary  hours  in  which  she  longed  for  the  society  of  her  sisters  ; 
although  the  letters  received  from  them  made  her  occasionally 
doubt  whether  difference  of  education  would  not  prevent  any 
similarity  of  taste  and  feeling  between  them.  This  doubt 
amounted  to  a  painful   certainty,  when,  after  an  absence  of  three 

ire,  she  paid  a  long  promised  visit  to  the  Priory.  It  had  been 
anticipated  with  delight  for  weeks  beforehand,  and  every  pass- 
ing cloud  of  distrust  bad  been  driven  from  her  mind,  as  some- 
thing unkind  in  herself,  and  unjust  to  her  family  :  but  when  a 
week  had  been  spent  under  her  father's  roof,  and  she  bad  watch- 
ed the  tone  and  temper  exhibited  in  her  sisters'  every  day  life, 
the  fond  illusion  was  dispelled  ;  and  she  was  forced  to  acknowl- 
edge, with  bitter  disappointment,  that  the  retirement  of  Farleigh 
afforded  her  infinitely  greater  sources  of  happiness  than  the  com- 
parative dissipations  of  her  home.  Perhaps  the  effect  of  this 
visit  on  Gertrude's  mind  might  have,  been  different,  if  Edith 
had  been  of  an  age  to  he  her  companion  :  but  she  was  then  only 
fourteen,  and  not  yet  out  of  the  school-room,  and  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  foresee  the  circumstances  which  contributed  afterwards  to 
form  her  character  ;  and  Gertrude  returned  to  her  aunt,  with  the 
belief  thai  there  existed  a  barriei  between  herself  and  her  sisters, 
far  more  real  than  any  which  outward  separation  could  occasion, 
In  her  mother  she  had  found  warm  feelings,  but  a  mind  so  infe- 
rior to  her  own,  that  there  was  scaii-r.lv  a  Bllbject  on  which  they 
could  converse   in  common;  and  in   her  father  she   had   met  i 


14  GERTRUDE. 


proud,  worldly  man,  who  saw  in  his  children  only  the  reflection 
of  his  own  imaginary  consequence,  and  thought  but  little  of  Ger- 
trude when  he  discovered  that  she  possessed  neither  beauty  nor 
showy  accomplishments,  which  might  bring  credit  on  himself. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  drawbacks,  Gertrude  still  dwelt 
upon  the  recollection  of  her  home,  not  indeed  with  pleasure,  but 
with  an  interest  deeper  than  she  could  feel  for  any  other  spot, 
however  associated  with  enjoyment.  Her  aunt's  age  and  illness 
were  constantly  before  her,  warning  her  that  the  time  would 
probably  soon  come  when  she  must  return  to  it ;  and  even  with- 
out this  thought,  the  very  names  of  father,  mother,  sisters  and 
brother,  awakened  visions  of  happiness  which  she  could  not  per- 
suade herself  it  would  be  impossible  to  realize. 

Two  years  had  elapsed  after  her  first  unsatisfactory  visit  to 
the  Priory,  when  Gertrude  was  again  recalled  from  Farleigh  by 
the  sudden  and  most  alarming  illness  of  her  father.  He  had 
been  dining  with  a  party  of  friends,  when  he  was  seized  with 
an  apoplectic  fit,  from  which  it  was  first  thought  he  could  not 
possibly  recover ;  and  although  he  partially  regained  his  recol- 
lection, his  mind  was  very  much  broken,  and  after  lingering  for 
about  a  week  he  expired  ;  awakening,  by  his  unexpected  loss, 
feelings  of  sympathy  and  regard,  which  had  but  seldom  been 
accorded  to  him  during  his  life.  Every  one  exclaimed  :  "  Plow 
dreadful!"  "  How  distressing  !"  "  Poor  Mrs.  Gourtenay  !  how 
much  she  will  suffer!"  but  few  dwelt  for  more  than  an  instant 
upon  the  awfulness  of  the  event,  which  had  thus  summoned  a 
fellow  creature,  engrossed  in  the  pursuits  of  the  world,  to  the 
tremendous  presence  of  his  Maker.  If  Gertrude  had  known  her 
father  better,  the  trial  would  have  been  much  more  severe  ;  but 
being  ignorant  of  his  habitual  tone  of  mind,  she  could  only  listen 
to  the'  stories  which  were  repeated  of  his  honorable  conduct 
and  occasional  benevolence,  and  trust  that  her  own  judgment 
had  been  mistaken,  and  that  these  passing  acts  of  virtue  were 
really  signs  of  that  inward  purity  of  heart  which  God  requires. 
Mr.  Gourtenay's  fortune  had  always  been  considered  equal  to 
the  style  in  which  he  lived  ;  by  some  it  was  reported  to  be  two 
thousand  a  year,  by  others  three,  and  some  even  magnified  it  to 
four  or  five  ;  and  much  wonder  had  been  expressed  that  with 
inch  ample  means  he  should  have  chosen  to  educate  his  only 
son  for  the  bar.  But  the  event  of  his  death  proved  that  in  this 
Mr.  Courtenay  had  acted  the  part  of  a  prudent  though  selfish 
father.  He  had  lived  much  beyond  his  income,  and  he  well 
knew  it  ;  but  he  could  not  consent  to  diminish  one  iota  of  his 
consequence  in  the  eye  of  the  world  ;  and  therefore  he  still  kept 
his  carriage  and  horses,  and  paid  his  annual  visit  to  the  metro- 
polis, and  vied  with  his  more  wealthy  neighbors  in  the  splendoi 
of  his  country  establishment ;  and  contenting  himself  with  pro 


GERTRUDE.  15 


riding  for  his  wife  and  daughters,  left  his  son  with  no  expecta- 
tions beyond  those  which  were  derived  from  high  talents  and  the 
probability  of  success  in  his  profession.  To  many  young  men 
upon  their  first  entrance  into  life,  this  might  have  appeared  a 
hardship  ;  but  Edward  Courtenay,  fresh  from  the  excitement  of 
college  honors,  and  longing  for  future  distinctions,  was  satis 
fied  with  the  knowledge  that  his  father's  death  would  make  no 
very  material  alteration  in  the  comfort  of  his  mother  and  sisters  ; 
and  considered  his  own  situation  merely  an  additional  stimulus 
to  exertion.  Even  his  dreams  of  wealth,  and  his  projects  of 
benevolence,  received  but  a  momentary  check  ;  for  his  expecta- 
tions had  never  been  great,  and  to  a  mind  so  ardent  and  ener- 
getic, the  hope  of  gaining  riches  and  honor  by  his  own  efforts, 
and  then  devoting  them  all  to  good,  was  more  alluring  than  the 
prospects  of  the  most  splendid  hereditary  fortune. 

His  wishes,  however,  were  not  destined  to  be  fulfilled.  The 
wealth  denied  by  his  father's  extravagance  was  bestowed  from 
another  source  ;  and  about  two  years  after  Mr.  Courtenay's 
death,  his  son  found  himself,  by  the  unexpected  death  of  his 
cousin,  Colonel  Courtenay  of  Allingham,  and  of  his  only  child, 
a  boy  about  six  years  old,  the  possessor  of  the  family  estate 
and  a  fortune  reported  to  be  six  thousand  a  year.  At  an  earlier 
period,  Edward's  feelings  at  this  sudden  change  might  not  have 
been  altogether  unmixed  with  alloy  ;  but  four  years'  experience 
of  the  difficulties  attendant  upon  a  barrister's  life  had  somewhat 
deadened  his  enthusiasm.  His  imagination  still  pictured  the 
honors  that  might  be  gained  in  his  profession,  but  his  expec- 
tations of  attaining  them  were  less  vivid,  and  the  necessity  of 
daily  economy  made  him  turn  from  his  former  visions  of  benevo- 
lence, as  from  childish  dreams,  which  it  was  in  vain  to  imagine 
could  ever  be  put  in  practice.  At  such  a  moment,  therefore, 
when  the  first  bitterness  of  that  "  hope  deferred"  which  is  the 
portion  of  all  at  some  period  of  their  lives,  was  just  beginning  to  be 
felt,  the  relief  afforded  by  the  alteration  of  his  circumstances  was 
eal  as  il  was  unforeseen. 

ll.nl  the  choice  been  granted  him,  he  would  have  preferred 
the  acquisition  of  fortune  by  some  other  means;  but  his  acquaint- 
ance with  his  cousin  had  been  merely  thai  of  common  courtesy; 
and  his  regret  for  the  extinction  of  the  elder  branch  of  the 
family  was  soon  overpowered  by  the  brilliant  prospect  opened 
!>■  fore  him.  Six  thousand  a  year,  to  one,  who,  but  a  few  days 
previous,  would  have  considered  six  hundred  amply  sufficienl  lor 
the  gratification  of  every  ordinary  wish,  was  an  inexhaustible 
mine  of  wealth;  and,  for  the  first  week,  Edward  revelled  in  day- 
dreams of  enjoyment  and  generosity,  for  which  even  the  riches 
of  Croesus  would  scarcely  have  sufficed. 

But,  with  time  and  c  .  ition,  came  the  usual  concomitant 


1 0  GERTRUDE. 


evils  of  a  large  accession  of  fortune.  Lawyers,  relations,  ten- 
ants, and  dependents,  flocked  around  him,  all  clamorous  for 
attention,  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  month,  a  serious  doubt  arose 
in  his  mind,  whether  his  new  position  would  indeed  be  the  bed 
of  roses  which  fancy  had  so  fondly  pictured.  A  second  month 
not  only  converted  the  doubt  into  a  certainty,  but  brought  with 
it  also  the  conviction  that  his  wealth  was  not  what  the  world 
believed  it.  The  family  failing  of  the  Courtenays, — the  fear  of 
the  world's  ridicule,  and  the  corresponding  love  of  the  world's 
applause, — had  operated  to  its  fullest  extent  upon  his  prede- 
cessors at  Allingham.  That  which  they  were  reported  to 
possess,  they  felt  themselves  bound  to  expend.  To  own  that 
there  was  a  necessity  for  retrenchment  would  have  been  to  lower 
their  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  their  fellow  creatures  ;  and  as 
Mr.  Courtenay  of  the  Priory  had  acted  on  a  small  scale,  so  had 
his  cousin  Colonel  Courtenay  of  Allinjrham  acted  on  a  very 
large  one.  The  family  estates  had  become  every  year  more 
and  more  encumbered,  and  the  income  which  was  believed  to  be 
six  thousand  a  year,  was  not  in  reality  more  than  two.  Unhap- 
pily for  Edward,  he  had  had  but  a  slight  experience  of  the  fear- 
ful evils  arising  from  ostentation.  His  father's  conduct  had  pro- 
duced no  visible  effect  upon  the  happiness  of  his  mother  and 
sisters;  his  own  disappointment  had  been  comparatively  trifling; 
while  his  cousin's  extravagance,  though  at  first  startling,  was 
productive  of  even  less  apparent  evil.  Possibly,  if  any  friend  had 
been  near  to  suggest  the  real  motives  of  their  actions,  Edward 
iniLrht  have  been  more  alive  to  the  similar  defect,  which,  unknown 
to  himself,  existed  in  his  own  character ;  but,  as  it  was,  he  too 
yielded  to  what  he  considered  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  ap- 
pearances, and  with  a  secret  resolve  of  redeeming  all  that  others 
had  lost  through  extravagance,  by  his  own  strict  attention  to 
economy,  he  carefully  kept  the  fact  of  his  disappointment  from 
his  relations  and  friends,  and  suffered  himself  to  be  congratu- 
lated by  all,  as  the  possessor  of  a  property  nearly  three  times 
its  real  value.  To  one  person  alone,  besides  his  lawyers,  the 
ictual  state  of  his  affairs  was  confided,  with  a  strict  promise  of 
secrecy,  and  this  was  his  sister  Edith  ;  but  her  knowledge  of  the 
world  was  too  slight  to  enable  her  to  advise  him  as  to  his  future 
conduct,  and  the  reason  which  he  adduced  for  concealment  was 
so  plausible,  and  her  reverence  for  his  opinions  so  profound,  that 
she  could  not  doubt  the  propriety  of  his  decision.  It  certainly 
did  appear  unbecoming  to  publish  to  the  world  the  follies  of  a 
near  relation,  from  whom  so  much  wealth  had  been  derived; 
and  with  Edward's  prudence  and  strength  of  resolution  it  might 
be  possible  fur  him,  in  a  few  years,  to  recover  the  ground  that 
had  been  lost,  and  be  in  reality  what  he  now  was  only  in  ap- 
pearance.   And  when  once  the  past  had  been  retrieved,  the  samo 


GERTRUDE.  1  "J 


habits  of  simplicity  and  carefulness  would  enable  him  to  indulge. 
to  the  utmost,  his  plans  for  the  good  of  others ;  and  as  he  said 
this,  Edward  convinced  himself  of  his  own  sincerity,  by  sketch- 
ing the  rough  outline  of  a  new  church  to  be  built  on  Torrington 
Heath,  with  a  large  school-room  adjoining,  and  some  pictu- 
resque alms-houses  in  the  distance.  Edith  was  quite  satisfied. 
It  was  clear  that  wealth  had  made  no  change  in  her  brother ;  he 
still  retained  the  noble,  generous  mind,  and  the  high,  religious 
principle,  which  had  first  attracted  her  admiration,  and  after- 
wards mainly  influenced  her  conduct ;  and  the  only  difference 
perceptible,  was  in  the  enlargement  of  his  schemes  of  usefulness. 
And  Edward  was  equally  contented.  Possessed  of  talent,  feel- 
ing, and  energy,  he  had  passed  through  his  college  life  with  the 
esteem  both  of  his  companions  and  his  superiors  ;  his  tutors  had 
been  men  of  real  goodness;  his  friends  chosen  from  amongst 
the  elite  of  the  university  ;  he  had  been  peculiarly  guarded 
from  temptation,  and  the  weakness  of  his  own  heart  was  a  les- 
son still  to  be  learnt.  Or,  if  an  occasional  misgiving  as  to  the 
strength  of  his  moral  courage  crossed  his  mind,  it  vanished  be- 
fore the  brightness  of  those  day-dreams  of  the  future  which 
made  him  overlook  the  duties  of  the  present.  His  sister  Char- 
lotte had  indeed  spoken  the  truth  when  she  said  that  he  was  not 
consistent,  but  it  was  a  truth  which  few  but  herself  would  have 
discovered.  It  required  all  her  insight  into  character,  and  per- 
haps, likewise,  a  certain  coldness  of  feeling  not  liable  to  be  led 
astray  by  sympathy,  to  discover  that  Edward  sometimes  mistook 
wishes  for  actions,  and  gazed  upon  the  promised  land  of  holi- 
ness, till  he  forgot  the  struggles  and  the  toils  of  the  wearisome 
wilderness  which  must  be  passed  before  it  could  be  attained. 
In  the  present  instance,  his  self-deception,  if  such  it  could  be 
called,  was  complete  ;  and  when  lie  left  Allingbam  with  the 
intention  of  spending  a  few  months  in  London,  his  last  words  to 
Edith  were  a  repetition  of  the  plans  of  strict  economy  which  lie 
intended  to  practise  on  his  return.  Charlotte  perhaps  would 
have  inquired  why  they  were  not  acted  upon  at  once:  why  the 
Bame  overgrown  establishment  of  servants,  who  it  was  known 
had  cheated  their  master  at  every  opportunity,  was  still  kept ; 
why  the  same  array  of  hunters  and  dogs  was  still  to  be  seen ; 
and,  above  all,  why  a  person,  whose  professed  object  was  re- 
trenchment, should  voluntarily  choose  to  expose  himself  to  the 
temptations  of  a  London  season.  Hut  Edith's  confiding  dispo • 
Bition  shielded  her  from  every  doubt,  and  amidst  the  annoyances 
of  her  home,  her  mind  Still  dwelt  upon  the  thought  of  her  broth- 
ex,  as  upon  the  first  and  greatest  of  earthly  blessings.  It  wag 
tc  him,  therefore,  even  more  than  to  her  absent  sister,  thai  she 
Looked  tor  comfort.  Gertrude's  letters,  indeed,  were  delightful, 
iiid  hex  interest  in  the  most  minute  details  of  home  made  Ediili 


IS  GERTRUDE 


forget  how  little  she  had  actually  known  of  it ;  but  no  such  in'.er- 
sourse  could  equal  the  charms  of  Edward's  daily  sympathy  and 
affection  ;  and  as  Edith  walked  slowly  from  the  school,  she  be- 
gan to  reckon  the  weeks  and  even  the  days  which  must  elapse 
before  his  promised  return,  as  eagerly  as  a  child  calculates  the 
approach  of  its  holidays.  Engrossed  in  her  own  thoughts,  she 
passed  the  gate  of  Elsham  parsonage,  without  recollecting  that 
it  was  necessary  to  give  an  account  of  her  morning's  occupations 
to  Mrs.  Grantley  ;  and  would  probably  have  forgotten  it  alto- 
gether, if  the  approach  of  the  person  whom  of  all  others  in  the 
neighborhood  she  least  desired  to  meet  had  not  awakened  her 
from  her  revery.  The  lady  who  advanced  quickly  towards  her, 
was  of  that  doubtful  age  which  is  sometimes  expressed  as  being 
"  no  age."  Her  fawn-colored  silk  dress,  satin  mantilla,  and 
Tuscan  bonnet,  with  its  drooping  white  feather,  had  been  adjust- 
ed with  every  attention  to  that  which  might  be  most  becoming ; 
and,  at  a  little  distance,  her  light  step,  and  not  ungraceful  figure, 
would  have  justified  the  belief  that  she  was  very  young.  But 
on  a  nearer  approach,  the  faded  brilliancy  of  her  complexion 
destroyed  the  illusion.  The  expression  of  her  countenance  was 
as  little  to  be  depended  on  as  the  youthfulness  of  her  figure ;  for 
the  smile  upon  her  lips  was  contradicted  by  the  keenness  of  her 
small,  dark  eyes  ;  while  the  easy  suavity  of  manner,  which  at 
first  was  alluring,  excited  upon  maturer  observation  a  suspicion 
that  it  was  intended  as  a  mask  for  feelings  not  meant  for  inspec- 
tion. Edith's  first  impulse  was  to  retrace  her  steps,  but  the 
motive  would  have  been  too  obvious  ;  and,  earnestly  wishing 
herself  in  Mrs.  Grantley's  drawing-room,  she  hastened  her  steps, 
Imping  to  be  allowed  to  pass  with  only  a  bow  of  recognition. 
She  was  not  however  so  fortunate — a  hand  was  extended  to 
greet  her ;  and  the  lady's  voice,  in  the  blandest,  softest  of  tones, 
expressed  the  utmost  pleasure  at  their  meeting,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  ask  after  the  health  of  her  dear  mother  and  sisters, 
and  her  absentee  brother,  as  if  the  whole  happiness  of  the  speak- 
er depended  upon  the  information.  Edith's  answers  were  short, 
almost  abrupt ; — she  was  obliged  by  Miss  Forester's  inquiries, 
her  mother  was  tolerable,  her  sisters  pretty  well,  and  her  brother 
expected  home  in  about  a  fortnight ;  he  had  been  at  Hastings  for 
the  last  six  weeks,  and  was  now  in  London  on  business ;  and 
trusting  that  this  account  would  be  sufficient,  Edith  would  have 
passed  en, — but  she  was  again  prevented. 

"  You  are  in  a  hurry,  I  see,  my  dear  Miss  Courtenay  ;  some 
errand  of  kindness,  no  douot,  as  usual  ;  but  you  really  must 
spare  me  one  moment, — on  such  an  occasion  you  must  allow 
one  af  your  oldest  friends  to  offer  her  congratulations  ;"  and 
Miss  Forester,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  Edith,  as  if  determined  to 
discover  the  slightest  change  o17  countenance,  continued,  "It  is 


GERTRUDE  1 9 


a  delightful  prospect  for  you, — such  a  good  family  ;  so  highly 
connected,  and  so  fashionable ;  and  the  young  lady  the  belle  of 
the  season.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  satisfactory  in  every 
way.  Happily  for  your  brother,  money  is  no  object,  or  pei- 
haps — " 

"  Really  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  with  a  sudden  perception  of  what 
must  he  intended,  "  you  are  under  some  very  great  mistake. 
You  allude,  I  suppose,  to  some  reports  you  have  heard  of  my 
brother's  marriage  ;  we  hear  such  constantly,  iut  in  this  instance 
you  seem  to  be  much  better  acquainted  with  the  circumstances 
than  myself." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Miss  Forester,  with  a  peculiar  smile, 
"  near  relations  always  are  ignorant  of  these  matters.  There  is 
considerable  pleasure  in  a  little  mystery." 

"  Not  to  me,"  said  Edith.  "  I  never  can  endure  mystery,  and 
there  can  be  none  now,  for  there  is  no  secret." 

"  Indeed  !  I  must  have  been  strangely  misinformed,  but  you 
may  trust  me  entirely.  I  am  aware  that  family  reasons  may 
render  secrecy  expedient ;  and  I  am  almost  as  '  au  fait'  at  keep- 
ing my  countenance  as  yourself.  I  promise  you  not  to  name  the 
subject  again,  since  you  seem  so  much  to  dislike  it." 

Edith  felt  extremely  provoked  :  "  I  can  have  no  wish  in  a  case 
of  which  I  am  ignorant,"  she  said  ;  "  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor 
to  mention  the  report  you  have  heard,  I  will  give  you  full  author- 
ity to  contradict  it." 

"  But  that  is  so  absurd.  I  really  cannot  bring  myself  to  re- 
peat what  you  ought  to  have  known  a  week  since  :  my  cousin 
writes  me  word  that  the  affair  has  been  ail  but  settled  for  at  least 
that  time." 

'•  What  affair?"  said  Edith;  "you  are  still  speaking  enig- 
mas." 

"Oh!  this  marriage  with  Miss  Howard — the  beautiful  Miss 
Howard — whom  all  the  London  world  have  been  raving  about : 
I  see  there  is  a  Utile  consciousness  of  guilt  in  you.  It  is  impos- 
sible but  that  your  brother  must  have  named  his  intentions  to  his 
own  relations." 

'•  My  brother  would  have  named  his  intentions  assuredly,  if 
there  had  been  any  to  name,"  said  Edith  with  a  slight  haughti- 
ness  of  tone.  "  1  am  aware  that  he  is  acquainted  with  Miss 
Howard,  lor  he  frequently  mentions  being  ;it  her  father's  house ; 
j.ud  once  or  twice  he  has  noticed  her  style  of  beauty;  but  per- 
haps vou  will  u.^  ii:  c  your   corresp hut,  that  tins,  at  present,  is 

the  full  extent  of  his  intimacy  or  his  interest.  It  is  due  both  to 
himself  and  the  lady  to  contradict  tin:  report  as  soon  Ms  possible." 

"  Certainly,  since  you   wish   it.  it  shall  be  done  ;  but  I  could 
hardly  have  supposed  tic  Bubjecl  an  unpleasant  ono.     Nothing 
rently  could  ';'■  more  natural  or  desirable." 


HO  GERTRUDE. 


Edith  did  not  reply  to  the  remark,  but  only  made  a  few  com- 
mon-place observations  on  the  beauty  of  the  weather,  and  then 
saying  that  she  should  be  too  late  for  luncheon,  coldly  wished 
Miss  Forester  good  morning.  There  was  now  a  fresh  subject 
for  her  meditations,  but  her  thoughts  dwelt  more  upon  the  civil 
curiosity  evinced  during  the  conversation,  than  upon  the  con- 
versation itself.  Reports  of  the  kind  were  so  common  as  to  be 
mere  matters  of  course  ;  and  Edith  had  entirely  overcome  the 
awkward  denial,  and  hesitating  tone,  with  which  at  first  she  had 
endeavored  to  put  a  stop  to  them.  With  the  certainty  in  her 
own  mind  that  nothing  would  induce  Edward  to  marry  for  seve- 
ral years,  the  credulity  of  her  acquaintances  was  rather  amusing 
than  annoying;  and  Miss  Forester's  congratulations  would  have 
been  received  with  total  indifference,  but  for  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  offered. 


CHAPTER    IT. 


"  You  have  been  taking  advantage  of  this  fine  weather,  1 
hope,  sir,"  said  Miss  Forester  when  she  entered  her  father's 
drawing-room,  just  before  dinner  was  announced.  The  obser- 
vation was  addressed  to  a  tall,  sallow-complexioned,  gray-haired 
man,  whose  prominent  forehead,  and  piercing  eye,  betokened  high 
intellect,  as  plainly  as  his  compressed  lips,  and  stiff,  almost  cold 
manner,  indicated  reserve.  His  age  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  guess.  At  the  first  glance,  he  would  have  been  pronounced 
old,  decidedly  on  the  verge  of  seventy  ;  but  a  nearer  observation 
would  have  subtracted  at  least  ten  years  from  the  supposition. 
It  was  not  time  alone  which  had  whitened  his  hair,  and  sunk 
deep  furrows  in  his  cheek,  but  care,  and  thought,  and  the  tur- 
moil of  life,  and  the  exposure  to  a  sultry  climate.  There  were 
no  signs  of  age  in  the  quickness  of  his  eye,  the  keenness  of  hip 
remarks,  or  the  deep  full  tones  of  his  voice  ;  while  the  calmness 
of  his  ordinary  manner,  though  by  some  mistaken  for  the  insen- 
sibility of  one  to  whom  long  experience  has  rendered  all  things 
unexciting,  was  but  the  result  of  the  habitual  check  placed  by 
necessity  and  principle  upon  feelings  which  in  youth  had  been 
nearly  uncontrollable. 

"  I  have  been  walking  about  the  village  for  an  hour  or  two," 
was  his  reply  to  Miss  Forester's  insinuating  remark  ;  insinuating, 
rather  from  its  tone  than  its  purport. 


GERTRUDE.  21 


"  I  am  so  rejoiced  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  I  had  great  fears 
that  you  might  have  been  too  fatigued  to  venture  beyond  the 
garden.     Did  you  go  far  ?" 

The  question  was  not  answered,  when  Miss  Forester,  with 
great  empressement,  turned  to  a  gentleman  who  had  just  made 
his  appearance,  and  insisted  upon  his  sympathizing  with  her  hap- 
piness in  finding  that  Mr.  Dacre  was  able  to  take  so  much  exer- 
cise.— "  I  am  sure,  papa,  you  will  be  as  surprised  as  I  am.  We 
shall  have  no  fear  now  for  Mr.  Dacre's  amusement." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  expectation  of  a  compliment.  Mr. 
Dacre  dryly  remarked,  that  the  neighborhood  was  very  beautiful ; 
but  whether  it  had  really  afforded  him  any  gratification,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  from  his  tone  to  decide. 

"  We  shall  discuss  the  beauties  of  scenery  more  at  our  ease 
in  the  dining-room,"  said  General  Forester,  a  tall,  portly  man, 
with  a  pompous  humility  of  manner,  as  a  servant  entered  to 
announce  that  dinner  was  on  the  table.  "No  one  expects  a 
hungry  man  to  be  enthusiastic  in  any  thing  but  the  praises  of 
fish  and  soup,  Pdaria.  Not  that  I  can  hope,  Dacre,  you  will 
find  any  thing  to  admire  in  that  way  with  us.  We  are  very 
plain,  humble  people  in  our  style  of  living;  you  must  have  seen 
that  yesterday." 

.Mr.  Dacre  was  provokingly  silent ;  even  the  recollection  of 
the  French  entremets  and  pates,  the  curry  and  mulligatawny  on 
which  the  whole  skill  of  the  General's  cook  had  been  expended, 
excited  nothing  more  than  a  grave,  almost  melancholy  smile, 
lie  was  as  insensible  to  the  charms  of  the  table,  as  to  the  loveli- 
ness of  nature, — at  least  so  thought  Miss  Forester  ;  and  she  de- 
termined to  explore  his  taste  in  another  direction. 

Why  there  should  be  so  much  anxiety  upon  this  subject, 
might  possibly  have  excited  the  wonder  of  the  ignorant;  but  a 
Blight  insight  into  Mr.  Dacre's  history  would  have  solved  the 
problem.  Mr.  Dacre  was  Miss  Forester's  uncle  by  marriage, 
— a  sufficient  motive  for  all  ordinary  attentions ;  but  he  was 
also  in  ill  health,  and  nothing  could  be  more  natural  or  right 
than  the  endeavor  to  sooth  his  feelings,  and  charm  away  the 
sense  of  suffering.  Above  all,  he  was  rich,  and  if  other  induce- 
ments had  been  of  no  avail,  there  was  something  in  the  con- 
templation of  wealth  which  excited  Miss  Forester's  sympathy 
ami  interest  to  the  utmost.  In  the  present  instance,  there  was 
an  especial  reason  for  exertion.  Mr.  Dacre  was  but  just  re- 
turned from  India,  broken  in  constitution  by  the  enervating  effects 
of  the  climate,  and  broken  in  spirit  by  grief  for  the  loss  of  his 
wife  and  two  children.  In  all  human  probability  his  own  life 
would  not  be  long  spared,  and  then  came  the  important  question, 
who  was  to  inherit  his  property. 

Mrs.  Forester  had  been  Mrs.  Dacre's  youngest  and  favcrite 


22  GERTRUDE. 


sister,  and  in  default  of  nearer  ties,  it  seemed  natural  to  suppose 
that  her  family  would  be  chosen  as  his  heirs.  But  there  were 
too  many  instances  on  record  of  the  injury  done  to  near  connec- 
tions by  the  plausible  attentions  of  strangers,  and  both  Misa 
Forester  and  her  father  were  too  sensible  of  the  value  of  the  in- 
terests at  stake,  to  allow  any  unnecessary  time  to  intervene  be- 
fore taking  some  steps  for  securing  them.  Mr.  Dacre  was  in- 
vited to  the  Grange  almost  immediately  upon  his  arrival  in 
England.  His  reception  was  cordial  and  affectionate,  even  be- 
yond what  circumstances  demanded  ;  and  he  was  pressed  to 
consider  General  Forester's  house  his  home,  as  entirely  as  he 
might  have  done  if  his  sister-in-law  had  been  still  living  to  wel- 
come him.  All  this  was  very  common  ;  so  common  as  to  be 
rather  suspicious  ;  and  although  the  General's  blunted  feelings 
induced  him  to  believe  that  nothing  more  was  required  to  win 
Mr.  Dacre's  heart,  except  perhaps  a  little  attention  to  his  appe- 
tite, and  a  few  inquiries  after  his  health,  Miss  Forester  thought 
very  differently.  Her  hopes  rested  upon  the  daily  evidence  of 
consideration,  the  actions,  and  not  the  words,  which  insensibly 
soften  the  most  obdurate  heart;  and  which  would,  she  was  con- 
vinced, produce  in  time  their  full  effect  upon  Mr.  Dacre,  not- 
withstanding the  alarming  fence  of  cold  reserve  with  which  he 
seemed  to  repel  them.  Miss  Forester  knew  that  her  manner 
was  soft,  her  voice  melodious,  and  she  believed  that  her  conver- 
sation was  agreeable.  From  childhood  she  had  believed  her- 
self a  very  fascinating  person,  and  this,  not  merely  from  the 
consideration  of  her  own  perfections,  but  from  the  positive  as- 
surances of  relations  and  friends.  Time  had  produced  no 
change  in  her  early  self-appreciation.  It  had  deadened  the 
brilliancy  of  her  complexion,  and  marred  the  smoothness  of  her 
skin,  but  its  effects  were  visible  in  no  other  way,  and,  at  five- 
arid-thirty,  Miss  Forester  trusted  as  much  to  her  powers  of 
pleasing  as  she  had  done  at  eighteen  ;  and  in  some  degree 
justly.  The  only  mistake  lay  in  thinking  that  she  had  ever  really 
possessed  them ;  in  believing  that  suavity  of  manner  could 
compensate  for  an  uncharitable  temper,  and  that  external  re- 
finement could  conceal  the  vulgarity  of  a  low  worldly  mind. 
Yet  it  was  a  delusion  worthy  of  compassion,  for  it  had  been  fos- 
tered by  education  and  society.  The  loss  of  her  mother  when 
she  was  about  twelve  years  of  age  had  deprived  her  of  the  only 
friend  likely  to  raise  her  standard  of  excellence,  and  from  that 
time  she  had  been  surrounded  by  fawning  dependents  and  rela- 
tions, who,  poor  themselves,  looked  upon  wealth  and  fashion  as 
the  great  objects  of  existence,  and  who,  if  they  could  not  attain 
the  reality,  contented  themselves  with  the  semblance.  She  had 
iived  in  an  atmosphere  of  pretension,  and  every  thought  and 
feeling  hail  been  tainted  by  it ;  and  from  the  time  when,  as  a 


GERTRUDE.  23 


young  girl,  she  adorned  herself  with  mock  jewels,  and  rejoiced 
in  the  success  of  the  deception,  to  the  period  of  her  introduction 
o  Mr.  Dacre,  the  same  desire  had  been  the  ruling  motive  of  her 
actions, — that  of  making  the  greatest  possible  show  in  dress, 
ornaments,  opinions,  and  virtues,  with  the  least  possible  expen- 
diture of  money  and  trouble.  But  neither  skill  nor  energy  was 
lacking  when  the  occasion  demanded  ;  and  now,  carefully  and 
thoughtfully,  Miss  Forester  pursued  the  conversation,  in  the 
hope  of  gaming  that  knowledge  of  Mr.  Dacre's  tastes,  without 
which  all  her  efforts  at  pleasing  must  be  useless. 

••  V\  Inch  way  did  your  rambles  lead  you  to-day,  sir"?  Hard- 
ly, I  suppose,  to  the  Roman  hill,  though  there  is  such  a  splen- 
did view  from  the  top." 

"  2s"o,  1  was  too  tired  to  attempt  it  ;  it  is  rather  beyond  a  sick 
man's  stroll." 

"  But  you  must  go  there  now,  whilst  the  fine  weather  lasts. 
We  will  order  the  carriage  to-morrow,  at  any  hour  you  choose 
to  name,  and  then  we  can  drive  to  the  foot  of  it,  and  walk  up." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  it  again  ;  I  used  to  find 
some  amusement  in  tracing  out  the  line  of  the  encampment." 

It  was  a  delightful  hint  for  Miss  Forester.  Mr.  Dacre  must 
be  an  antiquarian  ;  and  immediately,  with  the  most  simple, 
childlike  professions  of  ignorance,  she  entered  eagerly  into  the 
subject,  asking  the  names  of  the  most  celebrated  Roman  sta- 
tions, and  begging  for  a  minute  description  of  the  different 
trenches  and  circurnvallations.  But  again  she  was  foiled.  Mr. 
Dacre  knew  little  of  the  subject,  and  was  only  interested  in  the 
spot  from  association.     Antiquities  therefore  were  dropped. 

"  I  think  you  will  find  Allingham  Park  a  pleasant  distance 
when  you  do  not  feel  equal  to  a  reguiar  walk.  In  the  summer 
it  is  delightful  to  sit  under  the  trees,  reading;  and  the  Courte- 
nays  have  always  been  such  intimate  friends  of  ours,  that  we 
are  perfectly  at  home  there,  and  do  just  as  we  like." 

'■  Mr.  Courtenay  is  absent,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

'  Yes,  in  London,  but  his  sister  told  me  to-day  that  he  would 
return  in  about  a  fortnight." 

"  lie  is  not  much  of  a  sportsman,  willingly  to  lose  the  begin- 
ning of  September." 

"  No,"  replied  Miss  Forester  with  a  smile,  "  it,  is  said  that  his 
occupation  at  this  moment  is  rather  more  exciting  than  par- 
tridge .shooting." 

••  Then  the  report  is  true,  Maria,"  said  the  General.  "  I  only 
hope  young  Courtenay  will  keep  up  things  in  as  good  a  style  as 
the  Colonel.      He  ought  to  do  it  with  Ins  income." 

His  sister  Edith  professes  ignorance,"  replied  Miss  Fores- 
ter "  but  every  one  knows  what  the  denial  of  a  near  relation 
means." 


l> 


4  GERTRUDE. 


"  And  what  does  it  mean  V  asked  Mr.  Dacre,  gravely.     Th 
tone  was  rather  startling,  and  there  was  a  pause  before  the  answer 

"  Of  course  I  don't  mean  to  say  always,  but  generally  speak 
ing,  it  is, — I  know,  but  I  don't  choose  to  tell." 

"Therefore,  you  do  not  believe  Miss  Courtenay's  words'!" 
said  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  That  is  so  very  severe,  my  dear  sir  :  I  only  meant  that  I 
put  my  own  interpretation  upon  them." 

"  Oh  !"  was  the  only  reply,  and  it  was  completely  baffling  to 
Miss  Forester's  wishes,  for  it  was  an  "  oh"  peculiar  to  Mr.  Da- 
cre. It  expressed  neither  pleasure  nor  pain,  neither  assent  nor 
dissent,  neither  surprise  nor  indifference — yet  that  it  had  some 
hidden  meaning,  was  evident  from  the  frequency  with  which  it 
was  used,  and  the  silence  with  which  it  was  invariably  followed. 

"  I  can  scarcely  suppose  my  cousin  to  have  been  misinform- 
ed," continued  Miss  Forester.  "  She  says  that  the  marriage  was 
told  her  as  a  settled  thing,  by  Miss  Howard's  intimate  friend  ; 
and  I  think  she  mentioned  next  month  as  the  time  fixed  for  the 
wedding." 

"  The  wonder  is,"  said  the  General,  "  that  young  Courtenay 
has  not  married  before  this.  I  should  have  imagined  the  very 
first  thing  he  would  have  thought  of,  on  coming  into  his  fortune, 
would  have  been  a  wife." 

"  He  is  so  fastidious,"  replied  Miss  Forester,  "  nothing  but  a 
first-rate  piece  of  excellence  would  satisfy  him  :  though  how  he 
has  made  fashion  and  seriousness  agree  in  his  present  choice,  it 
is  difficult  to  understand." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  seriousness  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dacre, 
rousing  himself  from  an  apparent  fit  of  abstraction. 

Miss  Forester  felt  anxious.  She  had  never  been  in  the  hab- 
it of  explaining  her  words,  and  yet  upon  this  definition  what 
important  consequences  might  depend.  Mr.  Dacre  might  be 
serious  himself:  nothing  indeed  was  more  probable,  considering 
that  he  had  arrived  at  the  mature  age  of  sixty,  and  had  lately 
lost  his  wife  and  two  children.  Her  answer,  therefore,  was  most 
carefully  worded — 

"  I  suppose  different  people  mean  different  things  by  the 
same  word.  My  notion  of  seriousness  is  when  persons  stay  at 
home  a  good  deal,  and  talk  about  schools  and  poor  people,  and 
say  that  they  like  reading  sermons.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  that 
I  believe,  is  the  general  idea." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Are  Mr.  Courtenay's  relations  generally  con- 
sidered serious  1" 

"  His  mother  is  not  considered  any  thing,  and  his  two  eldest 
sisters  are  just  like  every  one  else  ;  but  the  youngest  is  the 
counterpart  of  her  brother,"  and  there  is  another  living  with  au 
aunt,  who  they  say  has  the  same  turn." 


GERTRUDE  25 


Miss  Forester  believed  that  she  had  so  expressed  herself  as 
»o  give  no  impression  of  her  own  feelings  ,  but  even  a  single  in- 
tonation of  voice  will  betray  volumes  to  a  practised  ear  Mr. 
Dacre  needed  no  further  explanation  ot  his  niece's  seiiliiiieiiia 
on  the  subject  of  seriousness. 

"It  is  a  great  change  for  so  young  a  man,"  said  the 
(General.  "  Six  thousand  a  year  is  a  magnificent  fortune  for  a 
briefless  barrister." 

"  Not  briefless,  papa,"  observed  Miss  Forester.  "  Every  one 
said  that  he  was  succeeding  astonishingly  well." 

"  So  they  did,  but  what  is  a  barrister's  succeeding  ?  merely 
the  difference  between  a  crust  of  bread  and  starvation,  at  least 
for  the  first  half  dozen  years.  Edward  Courtenay  is  the  most 
fortunate  man  I  know."' 

"  What  did  you  say  his  fortune  was  V  asked  Mr.  Dacre,  with 
a  greater  appearance  of  interest  than  he  had  hitherto  shown. 

"  Six  thousand  a  year  decidedly  ;  it  may  be  more." 

Mr.  Dacre  looked  a  little  astonished,  but  the  expression  was 
only  momentary.  If  he  had  any  reason  for  doubting  General 
Forester's  assurances,  he  concealed  it  under  his  safe  monosylla- 
ble—" oh  !" 

"  I  should  have  gained  more  information  as  to  the  wedding," 
said  Miss  Forester,  "  if  I  had  met  either  of  the  other  sisters. 
Jane  tells  every  thing  from  not  knowing  how  to  keep  it,  and 
Charlotte,  from  not  thinking  it  worth  while  ;  but  Edith  is  im- 
penetrable." 

"  A  valuable  quality  in  a  woman,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  most  valuable.  No  one  esteems  it  more 
than  myself;  but  there  is  a  manner — some  people  have  a  much 
more  agreeable  way  of  being  silent  than  others  ;  and  they  say — 
however,  one  must  not  speak  ill  of  one's  neighbors — but  I  shall 
not  envy  Edith  Courtenay's  husband." 

"What  relation  waa  Colonel  Courtenay  to  the  present  Mr. 
Courtenay  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dacre,  seemingly  unmindful  of  Miss 
Forester's  remarks. 

'•  Rather  a  distant  cousin,"  replied  the  General,  "but  the  eld- 
er branch  of  the  family  has  dwindled  to  nothing  of  late  years. 
Colonel  Courtenay  certainly  was  a  splendid  man — kept  the  first 
table  in  the  county — he  married  a  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Vi- 
vian's— I  think  you  must  remember  her — a  poor,  weak,  sickly 
creature,  who  died  a  few  years  afterwards.  They  had  some 
giils  who  never  lived  long;  but  the  little  boy  appeared  quite 
Btrong  till  he  fill  from  his  pony,  and  injured  himself,  and  so 
brought  out  all  Ins  lurking  maladies." 

"  Was  Colonel  Courtenay  a  prudent  man  '"  inquired  Mr. 
Dacre 


26  GERTRUDE. 


"  As  prudent,  I  suppose,  as  he  had  any  occasion  to  be.  I  be 
lieve  he  gambled  a  little,  as  a  young  man,  but  I  never  heard  ol 
his  doing  it  latterly.  There  was  only  this  one  child  to  be  care 
ful  for,  or  I  dare  say  he  might  have  lived  differently." 

"  You  forget  the  elections,  papa,"  said  Miss  Forester  ;  "  ht 
spent  enormous  sums  in  them." 

"  You  can  scarcely  call  that  extravagance  ;  he  only  did  what 
his  ancestors  had  done  for  years  and  years  before  him.  The 
Courtenays  of  Allingham  always  represented  the  county,  and  so 
will  Edward  of  course." 

"  But,"  observed  Miss  Forester,  "  Mr.  Vivian  will  not  give  up 
his  seat,  and  I  should  think  Mr.  Courtenay  would  hardly  choose 
to  oppose  a  family  connection." 

"  Why  not  1  one  is  a  whig  and  the  other  a  tory.  Depend  upon 
it,  Vivian  would  have  no  chance  if  Edward  Courtenay  were  to 
come  forward.  The  seat  has  always  gone  with  the  property, 
and  half  the  people  who  voted  for  Vivian  only  did  it  because  they 
disliked  Lord  Montford.  Vivian  is  not  a  popular  man,  and  never 
will  be." 

"  But  have  you  not  often  heard  Mr.  Courtenay  rave  against 
the  excitement  and  wickedness  of  a  contested  election  ?"  inquired 
Miss  Forester. 

Mr.  Dacre  again  looked  interested.  "  Do  you  think  so  young 
a  man  could  withstand  the  temptation  of  a  seat  in  Parliament  V 
he  asked.  N 

"  No,"  replied  the  General  ;  "  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  in 
his  position  ;  and  why  should  he  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  observed  Miss  Forester,  with  a  soft  smile,  under 
which  lurked  an  expression  of  a  very  different  nature,  "  it  is  a 
delightful  thing  for  high-principled  people,  when  duty  and  incli- 
nation go  together.  I  suppose  it  might  be  possible  to  persuade 
Mr.  Courtenay  to  stand  for  the  county  as  a  matter  of  duty.  I 
have  heard  him  discourse  most  eloquently  on  the  responsibilities 
of  a  legislator." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  more  earnestly  than  usual,  "  the 
duties  are  most  important." 

"  You  would  feel  them  to  be  so.  if  you  were  in  my  place,"  said 
the  General.  "  The  first  thing  I  shall  urge  upon  Edward  Courte- 
nay, when  he  is  in  Parliament,  will  be  the  reduction  of  taxation  : 
if  something  is  not  done,  we  shall  all  be  ruined." 

"Your  words  will  have  very  little  effect,  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  an- 
swered Miss  Forester.  "  Mr.  Courtenay's  favorite  hobby  is  the 
improvement  of  the  manufacturing  districts  ;  he  harangues  upon 
it  as  if  he  were  making  a  speech  upon  the  hustings,  and  every 
thing  else  is  secondary  in  his  eyes." 

"  That  was  all  very  well  when  he  was  living  upon  bread  and 
cheese  in  his  chambers  in  London.     Taxation  was  nothing  to  him 


GERTRUDE.  27 


then ;  lie  had   nothing  to  be  taxed  for  ;  he  will  feel  now  that 
philanthropy  is  rather  an  expensive  amusement." 

"  For  a  person  with  six  thousand  a  year,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  in 
a  tone  of  quiet  irony. 

Miss  Forester  saw  instantly  that  her  father  was  upon  danger- 
ous ground.  Common-place  as  the  conversation  had  been,  it  had 
yet  given  her  some  idea  of  her  uncle's  principles ;  and  she  per- 
ceived that  the  utmost  tact  ivould  be  required  to  prevent  a  col- 
lision between  him  and  her  father.  Not  that  General  Forester's 
sentiments  were  such  as  would  shock  the  world  in  general  :  on 
the  contrary,  he  was  what  would  be  called  a  sensible,  good- 
hearted  man  ;  rather  fond  of  eating  and  drinking,  yet  not  so  as 
to  be  positively  ungentlemanly  ;  rather  selfish,  but  not  more  so 
than  his  neighbors  ;  rather  careless  in  his  way  of  speaking  of  re. 
ligion,  yet  very  constant  at  church,  and  as  benevolent  as  he  said 
he  could  afford  to  be.  If  his  standard  of  virtue  were  a  low  one, 
it  was  his  own  concern  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  he  had  the  credit  of 
acting  up  to  it ;  and  if  not  very  strict  in  his  life,  he  had  the 
charity  to  be  lenient  to  the  faults  of  others.  Perhaps  the  leading 
feature  of  his  character,  was  a  paltry  ambition — the  desire  of 
bringing  himself  into  notice  as  a  politician,  though  his  fortune 
would  not  admit  of  his  attempting  any  thing  beyond  the  being 
chairman  at  an  election  committee.  It  was  his  object,  but  one 
which  he  had  never  yet  attained  ;  and  his  positive  assertion  that 
Edward  Courtenay  would  ultimately  be  in  Parliament,  might 
arise  from  the  hope  that,  under  such  circumstances,  he  should, 
from  his  long  acquaintance  with  him,  become  his  adviser,  and  a 
very  influential  person.  What  Mr.  Dacre's  opinions  were  could 
not  as  yet  be  decided,  but  Miss  Forester  felt  that  they  were  not 
such  as  she  was  accustomed  to  ;  and  during  the  remainder  of 
dinner,  she  carefully  checked  every  allusion  to  subjects  of  more 
than  surface  interest,  reserving  any  further  attempts  at  discover- 
ing Mr.  Dacre's  character  to  the  more  favorable  opportunity  of 
a  tete-a-tete. 


CHAPTER    III. 


Miss  Forester's  gossip  was  repeated  by  Edith  to  her  moth- 
er and  sisters  withoul  exciting  any  greater  surprise  in  their  minds 
than  it  had  done  in  hers.  It.  was  amusing,  but  nothing  more. 
Yet,  so  strange  is  the  power  of  a  positive  assertion,  even  when 


28  GERTRUDE. 


we  have  the  strongest  evidence  for  its  contradiction,  that  Edith 
could  not  restrain  a  certain  impatient  curiosity  when  the  letter 
bag  was  placed  on  the  table  the  following;  morning  ;  and  the 
search  after  the  mislaid  key,  with  the  difficulties  of  the  patent 
lock,  had  seldom  before  been  so  provoking. 

"It  is  Edward's  handwriting!"  she  exclaimed,  as  her  quick 
eve  caught  part  of  the  direction  of  a  letter  nearly  concealed  by  a 
newspaper.     "  Mamma,  it  is  for  you — do  open  it." 

"  Edith  believes  Miss  Forester's  nonsense,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Charlotte. 

"  That  would  be  too  absurd,"  replied  Edith.  "lam  not  more 
eager  than  usual." 

"  Conscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all,"  saij  Charlotte. 
"  I  never  said  you  were  eager  ;  but  you  know  you  were.  Here 
is  another  letter,  from  Gertrude, — will  not  that  excite  your  in- 
terest too  ?" 

Edith,  without  answering,  began  looking  for  her  mother's 
spectacles. 

"  They  are  in  my  room,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  in  the 
lower  tray  of  the  inner  drawer  of  rny  bureau — the  oak  bureau,  I 
mean.     Don't  you  disarrange  my  things,  though." 

But  Mrs.  Courtenay's  injunctions  were  disregarded.  Even 
t he  power  of  the  fairy  Order  herself  could  not  have  Withstood 
the  rapidity  of  Edith's  movements,  and  in  less  than  a  minute 
she  returned  ;  the  spectacles  were  properly  adjusted,  and  the 
seal  was  slowly  broken.  Edith  watched  her  mother's  coun- 
tenance as  she  read,  and  saw  directly  that  the  contents  of  the 
letter  were  unusual. 

"  Let  me  have  it,  dear  mamma,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  never 
can  decipher  Edward's  writing." 

"  No,  my  dear,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  it  is  impossi- 
ble.    Hut  it  can't  be  true — he  is  only  joking." 

"  What  can't  be  true,  mamma  ]  Do  tell  us  ;  we  really  are 
anxious." 

"  He  writes  so  very  badly,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "  11 — no, 
it  is  not  an  H  ;  it  must  be  a  C.     C-o-w — Coward." 

"  Dear,  dear  mamma,"  said  Edith,  her  impatience  becoming 
every  instant  more  painful,  "  if  you  would  only  let  me  have 
it " 

"  Stop,  my  dear,  I  shall  tell  it  in  a  moment ;  but  he  ought  not  to 
have  left  school  when  he  did  ;  1  told  his  poor  father  so.  Cow- 
ard— it  is  Coward  !    Miss  Coward,  of  Oakhampton  Court." 

"  Howard  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  who  saw  directly  the  confir- 
mation of  Miss  Forester's  intelligence. 

'  So  it  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "  Edward  is  going  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Howard.  Edith,  you  must  read  it  all  over  to 
me  again,  for  I  cannot  quite  make  out  what  he  means." 


GERTRUDE.  29 

Edith  eagerly  seized  the  letter,  but  her  voice  trembled  as 
Bhe  began,  and  "she  was  obliged  to  yield  the  task  to  Charlotte, 
who,  not  sharing  her  sister's  anxiety,  read  with  perfect  compo- 
sure. 

"  My  dearest  Mother, 

"  You  must,  I  am  sure,  have  been  expecting  to  hear  from 
me  for  some  time  ;  for  I  have  allowed  my  usual  writing  day  to 
pass  without  giving  you  any  information  as  to  my  movements. 
The  fact  is,  that  my  mind  has  been  so  occupied  with  a  subject  of 
engrossing  interest,  that  I  could  not  turn  to  ordinary  matters, 
and  yet  I  was  unwilling  to  mention  my  hopes,  until  I  could  tel1 
you  that  they  were  likely  to  be  realized.  After  this  preamble,  1 
trust  it  will  not  be  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  you  to  learn,  that 
1  have,  after  very  serious  consideration,  made  an  offer  of  my 
hand  to  Miss  Howard,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Howard  of  Oak- 
hampton  Court,  in  Warwickshire — a  gentleman  of  considerable 
fortune  and  highly  connected,  with  whom  I  have  lately  become 
very  intimately  acquainted  at  Hastings.  I  need  scarcely  express 
to  you  the  great  happiness  I  experienced  on  receiving  this  morn- 
ing a  letter  containing  »the  acceptance  of  my  proposals,  and 
my  only  desire  now  is,  to  obtain  your  sanction  to  a  step  which 
promises  so  much  to  my  future  life.  It  would  be  absurd  in  me 
to  attempt  a  description  of  one  in  whom  I  feel  such  a  deep 
interest,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  believe  that  my  choice  has  been 
the  result  of  a  very  close  observation  of  character,  and  a  firm 
persuasion  that  with  no  other  person  whom  I  have  yet  seen 
should  I  have  an  equal  chance  of  happiness.  Situated  as  I  am, 
it  was  almost  necessary  that  I  should  marry  ;  and  1  look  forward 
tn  the  friendship  of  my  sisters,  and  my  dear  Laura  as  a  source 
of  infinite  comfort  to  us  all.  It  was  indeed  of  my  own  family 
that  I  principally  thought  when  first  I  decided  upon  this  impor- 
tant step  ;  for  with  your  ill  health,  it  will  be  far  better  for  my 
sisters  to  depend  upon  a  sister-in-law  to  take  them  into  society, 
than  to  be  indebted,  as  tiny  otherwise  must  be,  to  strangers  ;  and 
Allingham  will  be  a  much  greater  source  of  enjoyment  to  them 
now,  than  it  could  have  been  when  inhabited  only  by  a  bachelor 
brother.  I  shall  expect  your  answer  with  the  greatest  anxiety, 
though  I  have  not  really  any  doubt  of  your  approbation.  Per- 
ps  it  will  please  you  to  know  that  Miss  Howard  is  idolized  in 
her  own  family,  and  considered  'he  belle  of  the  season.  The 
first,  however,  is  the  only  thing  which  is  really  of  consequence. 
I  do  not  write  to  my  sisters  to-day,  knowing  that  they  will  hear 
i  very  thing  from  you,  but  I  shall  depend  upon  Edith's  servici  s 
as  bridesmaid,  and  either  Jane  or  Charlotte  besides.  Lama 
will  be  anxious  u<  become  acquainted  with  you  all  as  soon  as 
possible,  ind  when  our  arrangements  are  made,  my  Bisters  can 


30  GERTRUDE. 


spend  a  few  days  with  me  in  London,  and  then  proceed  to  Oak- 
hampton. 

"  The  postman's  bell  is  ringing  :  I  have  only  time  to  add  my 
best  love  to  my  sisters  and  yourself,  and  my  earnest  entreaties 
that  you  will  write  by  return  of  post. 

"  Ever,  my  dearest  mother, 

"  Most  affectionately  yours, 

"  Edward  Courtenay. 

"  P.  S.  Laura  attained  her  eighteenth  year  the  day  before 
yesterday  ;  so  that  she  will  be  a  most  suitable  companion  for 
dear  Edith.  You  will  not  expect  any  increase  of  wealth  to  the 
familv,  when  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Howard  has  seven  children  to 
provide  for,  and  six  of  them  sons  ;  but  happily  this  is  a  matter 
of  no  consequence  to  any  of  us.  I  must  decide,  when  my  sisters 
come,  about  new  furnishing  the  drawing-room  at  Allingham,  and 
perhaps  the  library." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  after  Charlotte  had  finished, 
which  she  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Miss  Forester  was  right  then.  How  she'will  glory  in  hav- 
ing heard  the  news  before  us  !" 

"  It  is  very  sudden,"  said  Jane.  "  Love  at  first  sight,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  No,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  it  was  a  subject  of  very  serious 
consideration,  decided  on  principally  from  regard  to  his  family. 
I  do  like  to  see  people  deceiving  themselves,  especially  when 
they  do  it  as  perfectly  as  Edward.     What  do  you  say,  Edith  V 

But  Edith  had  left  the  room,  and  was  spared  the  renewal  of 
the  preceding  day's  observations. 

"  I  do  highly  estimate  disinterested  fraternal  affection,"  said 
Charlotte,  "  it  is  so  rare.  Most  brothers  marry  to  please  them- 
selves ;  every  brother  in  fact  that  I  ever  heard  of  before  has  done 
it — but  Edward  is  a  solitary,  glorious  instance  of  self-sacrifice." 

"  You  are  not  sorry  that  he  is  going  to  be  married,  my  dear, 
are  you  '!"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"  Oh  !  no,  ma'am,  very  glad.  I  shall  like  having  a  sister-in- 
law  extremely  ;  as  Edward  says,  it  will  be  very  convenient. 
And  I  am  so  pleased  she  is  beautiful.  Next  to  being  lovely 
one's  self,  the  best  thing  I  can  imagine  is  having  a  lovely  rela- 
tion." 

"  It  looks  very  smooth  and  pleasant,"  said  Jane  ;  "  but  if 
Shakspeare  is  true  it  cannot  last." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  it  should  not,"  observed  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
'  Edward  seems  quite  satisfied  himself,  and  you  must  own,  my 
dears,  that  he  writes  very  kindly  about  you." 

"  Ycry,"  repeated    Charlotte   emphatically.      "Marcus  Cur- 


GERTRUDE.  31 


lius  was  nothing  to  him.  He  had  the  benefit  of  his  country  as 
i  motive  for  his  self-devotion,  but  Edward  is  going  to  leap  into 
the  far  more  dangerous  gulf  of  matrimon)',  merely  to  give  his 
sisters  the  benefit  of  a  chaperone  !" 

"  You  are  rather  hard  upon  him,  Charlotte,"  said  Jane. 

"  Not  hard  upon  his  actions,  only  upon  his  words.  He  is  per- 
fectly right  to  marry,  and  Miss  Howard  may  be  as  likely  to  make 
him  happy  as  any  one  else  ;  but  why  does  he  not  say  at  once  thai 
he  wishes  to  please  himself,  instead  of  making  a  foolish  parade 
of  consideration  for  usV 

"  My  dear  Charlotte,"  observed  her  mother,  "  you  are  not 
kind  to  Edward.     He  never  says  what  he  does  not  mean." 

"  Indeed,  mamma,  that  is  the  one  thing  which  I  am  always 
quarrelling  with  him  for.  He  does  say  what  he  does  not  mean ; 
that  is,  he  puts  things  in  such  a  plausible  way,  that  he  is  as  much 
deluded  as  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  Exclusive  of  his  sister  Charlotte,"  said  Jane. 

"  Yes,  exclusive  of  his  sister  Charlotte.  I  am  convinced  that 
I  know  him  better  than  he  knows  himself.  I  can  tell  exactly 
what  passed  through  his  mind  to  induce  him  to  write  such  a  let- 
ter as  that.  First  of  all,  he  was  desperately  in  love,  and  resolved 
upon  making  his  oiler ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  a  Tittle  anxious  as 
to  what  we  should  say  ;  and  then,  '  his  wish  being  father  to  his 
thought,'  it  struck  him  what  a  delightful  thing  it  would  be  for  us 
to  l">  everywhere  with  Mrs.  Courtenay,  instead  of  being  indebt- 
ed to  the  chance  kindnesses  of  friends  ;  and  what  pleasant  parties 
and  amusements  we  might  have  at  Allingham,  instead  of  the 
dull  family  meetings  that  have  been  held  there  lately  ;  and  so, 
in  about  five  minutes,  these  every-day  advantages  were  magni- 
fied into  first-rate  blessings,  and  Edward  made  his  offer,  and 
gained  his  object,  and  piqued  himself  upon  being  the  most  affec- 
tionate brother  in  the  world." 

"  And  he  is  so,  my  dear  ;"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  no  one  in 
the  neighborhood  is  like  him." 

"  1  quite  agree  with  you,  mamma,"  replied  Charlotte  ;  "  and 
th.it  makes  it  the  more  provoking.  \t'  he  had  not  a  great  many 
real  excellencies,  one  would  be  less  angry  at  his  mock  ones." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  certain  they  are  mock  ones, 
in  this  instance,"  observed  Jane. 

"  Simply  for  this  reason.  If  he  really  thought  so  much  of  us, 
why  did  he  not  write  lo  consult  us  !  Surely  we  were  the  best 
judges  as  to  whether  our  happiness  depended  upon  having  so- 
ciety at  Allingham,  and  a  sister-in-law  for  a  chaperone.  Just 
ask  yourself,  Jane, — do  you  think  that  Edward's  determination 
wu.ild  have  been  fur  an  instant  shaken  by  finding  that  we  disliked 
his  marriage  V 

'•  No,"  replied  Jane  •  "  bul  it  would  not  be  natural  to  expect  it." 


32  GERTRUDI 


"  Certainly  not ;  but  according  to  his  own  showing  it  ought 
to  have  been,  lie  says  that  he  thought  of  us  principally,  and 
yet  he  acted  precisely  in  the  way  to  prevent  our  wishes  from 
being  of  any  avail" 

Jane  smiled.  "I  suppose  half  the  world  would  have  done  the 
same." 

"  No,  one  half  would  have  not  considered  their  own  families 
at  all ;  and  the  other  half  would  have  been  desirous  of  their  ap- 
probation, yet  determined  upon  going  their  own  way  in  spite  of 
them.  There  are  not  many  who  have  Edward's  happy  knack 
of  making  duty  and  inclination  go  hand  in  hand." 

"  There  was  no  great  duty  at  stake,  in  this  case,"  said  Jane. 

"Perhaps  not,  according  to  the  usual  opinion;  but  Edward 
piques  himself  upon  being  a  pattern  son,  scorning  the  ordinary 
modes  of  action  ;  so  it  might  have  been  imagined  that  he  would 
have  consulted  his  mother  before  he  made  his  offer." 

"  Which  of  you  will  be  bridesmaid  '?"  inquired  Mrs  Courtenay. 

"  You  must,  Charlotte,"  said  Jane.  "  The  bustle  and  fatigue 
would  half  kill  me." 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  objection  ;  fn  fact,  I  shall  like  it  very 
much.  It  will  enable  me  to  judge  what  sort  of  a  choice  Edward 
has  made,  by  seeing  Miss  Howard  in  her  own  family  :  besides, 
there  is  something  awful  to  me  in  a  host  of  unknown  connections, 
who  may  prove  a  disgrace  to  you  at  an}-  moment.  I  like  to 
know  the  full  extent  of  a  matrimonial  calamity  at  once." 

"  It  is  no  calamity,  my  dear,  that  I  can  understand,"  said  Mrs. 
Courtenay  ;  "  I  was  very  happy  for  a  great  many  years,  and  so 
was  my  mother,  and  I  hope  that  dear  Edward  will  be  the  same." 

"  No  one  can  join  in  the  hope  more  cordially  th^n  I  do,"  re- 
plied Charlotte ;  "  but  to  make  the  best  of  it,  it  is  a  ? ort  of  kill- 
or-cure  business ;  however,  that  is  not  my  affair :  as  far  as  I  am 
personally  concerned,  I  am  rejoiced  at  it,  and  I  shall  go  and  take 
a  solitary  walk  in  the  back  shrubbery  for  the  purpose  of  settling 
what  my  bridesmaid's  dress  is  to  be." 

"  You  had  better  consult  Edith,"  said  Jane,  "for  you  must  be 
dressed  alike." 

"Oh'  no  ;  I  am  the  eldest,  and  even  if  I  were  not,  Edith 
would  be  entirely  at  a  loss  to  decide.  I  would  consult  her  upon 
the  pattern  of  cotton  frocks  for  the  school  children,  but  nothing 
beyond." 

"  Give  me  my  desk  before  you  go,  Charlotte,"  said  hsv  mother. 
"  I  must  write  to  dear  Edward  directly." 

"  We  have  forgotten  Gertrude,"  observed  Jane.  "  You  had 
better  take  her  letter  to  Edith  as  you  go  up  stairs ;  T  dare  say 
there  is  nothing  very  important  in  it."  Edith'f  door  wis  bolted, 
and  when  it  was  opened,  Charlotte's  careless  good  humor  was 
&tartled  at  seeing  traces  of  agitation  in  her  sister's  face.     Edi'r 


GERTRUDE.  33 


did  not  however  say  any  thing,  but  took  the  letter,  and  then,  turn- 
ingaway  again,  fastened  lier  door.  Charlotte,  in  surprise,  waited 
for  a  few  minutes  in  the  passage,  irresolute  as  to  whether  it  would 
be  advisable  to  request  admittance  ;  but  there  was  so  little  sym- 
pathy between  them,  that  it  would  have  been  felt  almost  as  an 
intrusion;  and  certain  that  Edith  had  some  whimsical  fancy  with 
regard  to  her  brother's  marriage,  Charlotte  consulted  her  own 
wishes,  and  went  into  the  shrubbery.  It  would  indeed  have  been 
impossible  for  her  to  have  entered  into  the  feelings  with  which 
Edith  had  received  the  intelligence  in  Edward's  letter  ;  not  that 
she  had  ever  supposed  he  would  not  marry  eventually  ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  had  often  conversed  upon  the  subject  together,  and 
built  pleasant  castles  in  the  air  as  to  the  manner  of  life  to  be  pur- 
sued at  Allingham,  and  the  friendship  that  was  to  subsist  be- 
tween Editli  and  her  brother's  wife;  and  in  the  uncertainty  of 
Gertrude's  return  to  her  home,  Edith  had  looked  forward  to  the 
affection  of  a  sister-in-law,  as  to  something  that  was  to  compen- 
sate for  the  want  of  congeniality  which  was  now  so  painful  to 
her.  But  the  idea  of  a  sudden  marriage  with  a  fashionable  Lon- 
don belle,  effectually  destroyed  these  bright  visions;  and,  joined 
with  other  portions  of  her  brother's  letter,  brought  with  it  that 
must  bitter  of  all  feelings, — the  first  perception  of  a  secret  fault 
in  one  whom  we  have  been  accustomed  to  revere.  Edward  was 
not  only  Edith's  dearest  treasure,  but  he  was  also  her  guide  and 
counsellor.  His  enthusiasm  and  high  principles  had  given  the 
original  impulse  of  good  to  her  mind,  and  his  letters  and  con- 
versation had  daily  strengthened  it.  Unknown  to  herself,  she 
lieved  him  perfect  ;  and  now,  a  secret  misgiving,  felt  long 
before  it  was  acknowledged,  suggested  the  possibility  that  he 
might  have  been  in  error.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  owned  the 
folly  of  attempting  to  judge  before  the  circumstances  were  fully 
known.  In  vain  that  she  accused  herself  of  unkindness,  and 
even  selfishness,  in  trembling  at  the  thought  of  any  thing  that  was 
to  make  him  happy,  One  thing  was  certain  :  Edward's  plans  of 
economy,  and  with  them  his  plans  of  benevolence,  must  for  the 
'tit  fall  to  the  ground,  liven  with  the  best  intentions,  con- 
siderable expense  must  be  incurred;  and  though  Edith  could 
nol  believe  that  his  resolutions  wen-  forgotten,  it  was  strange  to 
find  how  soon  they  could  le  set  aside.     Love  might  excuse  a 

greal  deal  ;  it  might  induce  him  to  see  excellencies  where  i i 

existed,  and  blind  him  to  the  probability  of  disappointmi 

ty  marriage  ;  but  it  could  not  completely  obliterate  the  recol- 
lection, that  without,  constant  economy  he  might  s i  lie  a  ruined 

man;  and  the  idea  of  tie:  newly   furnished  drawing-room,  and 

tie-  long  upholsterers'  bills,  fixed  itself  In   poor  Edith's  mind  aa 

firmly  as  that  of  having  a  fashionable  sister-in-law.     I  tihappily 

he  effeel  produced  by  solitude  and        i       m  was  nol  one  lik<  Ij 


rl 


4  GERTRUDE. 


to  conduce  either  to  her  own  happiness  or  that  of  her  family. 
The  evil  was  but  increased  by  consideration,  and  Edith's  prin 
ciples  were  as  yet  so  new,  and  her  feelings  so  warm,  that  she  was 
not  aware  of  the  error  which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  her  determi- 
nation to  decline  the  office  of  bridesmaid  ;  and  if  her  sister-in-law 
proved,  as  she  expected,  a  mere  elegant,  accomplished  beauty, 
to  content  herself  with  her  usual  pursuits,  and  to  depend  upon 
A-llingham  as  little  as  possible,  either  for  comfort  or  pleasure.  It 
was  the  resolve  of  a  moment  of  pique  and  disappointment,  made 
without    the    serious  thought    which    should    accompany  most 
actions  of  our  lives,  and  in  ignorance  that  the  first  duty  of  a  wo- 
man is  to  be  found  in  the  quiet,  soothing  influence,  exerted  within 
her  narrow  circle  upon  her  own  immediate  relations.     She  be- 
lieved her  sister-in-law  to  be  a  person  with  whose  principles  she 
could  have  no  sympathy,  and  did  not  remember  that  this  should  be- 
an especial  reason  for  striving  to  win  her  affection,  and  lead  hei 
in  the  right  way  :  and  feeling  pained  at  her  brother's  conduct, 
instead  of  patiently  submitting  to  events,  over  which,  since  the 
engagement  was  already  formed,  there  could  be  now  no  control, 
she  ran  the  risk  of  vexing,  perhaps   offending  him,  in  order  to 
avoid  what  she  considered  the  insincerity  of  sanctioning  an  act 
that  her  conscience  could  not  entirely  approve.  The  tone  of  Ger- 
trude's letter  somewhat  softened  her  feelings.     It  was  so  gentle, 
so  thoughtful,  so  full  of  consideration  for  every  one  at  Elsham, 
that  involuntarily  Edith  paused,  and  asked  herself  whether  her 
sister's  sentiments  would   resemble  her  own  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances,— whether    she  would    not    be    likely  to  feel  more 
calmly,  and  bear  more  patiently,  the  thought  of  Edward's  weak- 
ness.    But  Gertrude  could  not  be  an  example  for  her,  she  had 
never  given  her  whole  affection  to  her  brother,  and  trusted  and 
reverenced  him  as  a  superior  being  ;  and  she  had  never  looked 
forward   to   his   marriage   as  a  source   of  comfort  amidst  daily 
annoyances.     To  see  an  error  in  his  conduct  might  be  painful  to 
her,  but  it  could  never  be  as  trying  as  it  was  to  Edith  ;  and  the 
character  of  his  wife  could  be   but  of  little   consequence  to  one 
who  had  learnt  to   depend    so  entirely  upon  herself.     With   a 
secret  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  her  determination,  Edith  put 
her  sister's  letter  aside,  and  went  to  her  mother  to  beg  that  she 
would  inform  Edward  that  it  would  not  be  in  her  power  to  com- 
ply' with  his  request.     Mrs.  Courtenay  wondered,  and  inquired, 
and  even  began  to  urge  the   subject,  but  Edith  was  firm.     She 
had  little  respect  for  her  mother's  judgment,  and  had  been  per- 
mitted so  long  to  follow  her  own  path,  that  the  obligation  of  at- 
tending to  a  parent's  wishes  did   not  very  forcibly  strike   her  ; 
while  the  arguments  she  brought  forward  to  support  her  decision, 
strengthened  her  conviction  that  she  was  acting  rightly,  and  soon 
overcame  Mrs.  Courtenay's  remonstrances.     The  point  was  al 


GERTRUDE.  35 


length  yielded  with  the  usual  phrase, — "  Well  !  my  dear,  I  don't 
understand  these  things  :  people  were  very  different  when  [  was 
young ;  but  )*ou  must  do  as  you  choose." 


CHAPTER    IV. 


Edith's  determination  was  received  by  her  sister's  with  sur- 
prise, but  without  any  wish  to  combat  it.  Jane  professed  it  a 
matter  of  indifference  what  others  did,  as  long  as  they  did  not 
interfere  with  her  own  comfort ;  and  Charlotte,  whose  funda- 
mental principle  was,  that  every  one  was  the  best  judge  of  their 
own  actions,  after  expressing  it  as  her  opinion  that  Edith  was 
whimsical,  and  that  Edward  would  be  annoyed,  considered  the 
affair  settled,  and  easily  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  Oakhampton 
alone.  Edith,  however,  was  not  so  indifferent.  Outwardly,  in- 
deed, she  was  tranquil  and  cheerful,  but  her  brother's  next  letter 
was  looked  for  with  anxiety,  ami  even  her  disappointment  as  to 
his  strength  of  character  could  not  render  her  happy  in  the  pros- 
pect of  displeasing  him.  But  the  deed  was  not  to  be  recalled  ; 
she  bad  refused  to  be  bridesmaid,  and  Miss  Howard  would  nat- 
urally nnko  choice  of  some  personal  friend  to  fill  her  place.  It 
was  in  vain  to  repent  of  acting  hastily,  or  to  doubt  whether  her 
motives  had  been  justifiable.  Edward's  anger,  if  excited,  must 
be  borne  pp.tiently,  and  she  could  oidy  hope  that  he  would  trust 
tn  her  affection,  and  not  inquire  too  minutely  into  the  circum- 
stances  which  rendered  it  so  impossible  for  her  to  leave  home  at 
ib.it  lime;  yet,  even  with  this,  Edith  was  not  contentful  It  was 
mil  clear  that  she  had  been  wrong:  but  it  was  not  certain  that 
she  had  been  riirbt.  She  distrusted  her  motives  :  and,  as  usual 
in  such  cases,  Edward's  letter  was  to  decide  the  question  ;  for 
Edith  was  young,  ami  inexperienced  in  self-knowledge.  Hit 
mosl  glaring  faults  had  been  seen  and  corrected;  but  the  real 
difficulty  of  a  Christian  life — the  struggling  against  secret  sins, 
was  just  commencing.  She  was  not  yet  aware  of  the  slight 
self-complacency,  and  absence  of  the  "charity  which  thinketh 
no  evil,"  that  had  induced  her  to  form  a  hasty  judgment  of  hei 
intended  sister-in-law  ;  and  Bhe  lefl  the  goodness  of  her  decision 
to  be  determined  by  its  consequences,  rather  than  by  an  inquiry 
into  her  own  intentions.  Edward's  letter,  when  it  arrived,  left 
her  siill  ie.  a  state  of  do  St.     He  expressed  himself  much  hurt 


36  GERTRUDE. 


at  her  refusal  ;  and  hinted  that  all  other  engagements  should 
have  given  way  to  one  so  urgent.  But  he  did  not  press  hia 
wishes.  His  mind  was  pie-occupied,  and  his  heart  full  of  his 
anticipated  happiness  ;  and  two  sides  of  his  paper  were  filled 
with  plans  for  alterations  at  Allingham,  and  descriptions  of  the 
stvle  in  which  he  intended  to  furnish,  not  only  the  drawing-room 
and  library,  but  a  great  part  of  the  house.  Edith's  pride  was 
wounded.  His  indifference  was  more  galling  than  any  irrita- 
tion; and  her  aversion  to  her  new  sister-in-law  increased.  She 
believed  that  her  vexation  arose  principally  from  being  disap- 
pointed in  Edward.  Six  months  before  his  plans  had  been  of 
lavish  profusion  in  works  of  charity,  and  the  most  rigid  self-de- 
nial in  personal  expenditure.  If  he  ever  married,  his  wife  was 
to  possess  similar  tastes  :  and  yet,  in  one  week,  "  the  baseless 
fabric"  of  his  visions  had  vanished.  Ornamental  lodges  bad 
taken  the  place  of  alms-bouses  ;  painted  glass  was  superseded 
by  French  windows;  altar  cloths  and  pulpit  hangings  had  yielded 
to  the  superior  charms  of  silk  curtains  and  rich  carpets.  The 
alteration  could  not.  be  in  Edward  himself — it  was  impossible 
that  a  taste  for  luxury  should  have  sprung  up  in  so  short  a  time  ; 
but  Miss  Howard's  influence  must  naturally  be  great ;  and,  no 
doubt,  it  was  to  please  her  that  Edward  now  gave  such  an  ex- 
clusive attention  to  things  which  once  he  had  considered  of  little 
value.  So  Edith  argued — and  so  she  would  willingly  have 
hi iniled  herself  to  the  fact  of  her  brother's  weakness.  But  in 
this  she  did  him  more  than  justice.  In  his  barrister's  chambers, 
Edward  Courtenay  sat  in  his  easy  chair,  and  surrounded  him- 
self by  the  supposed  necessaries  of  life,  and  built  in  imagination 
the  most  perfect  church  that  had  been  erected  for  centuries.  In 
his  drawing-room  at  Allington  he  reposed  upon  a  sofa,  and 
amused  himself  with  books  and  pictures,  and  his  church  grew 
more  splendid  and  his  charities  more  extensive.  And  now,  he 
gave  orders  which  would  have  accorded  with  a  fortune  double 
his  own;  and  the  next  minute,  pictured  the  delight  he  should 
experience  in  having  some  one  to  share  his  plans  for  the  comfort 
of  his  tenants,  and  assist  in  distributing  his  benevolence.  The 
change  over  which  Edith  grieved  was  a  change  of  circumstances, 
not  of  heart. 

A  polite  note  from  Mrs.  Howard,  containing  a  general  invita- 
tion to  Oakhampton,  made  Edith  think  for  a  few  minutes  of  re- 
tracting her  refusal ;  but  a  letter  from  Edward,  at  the  same  time, 
told  her  that  Miss  Howard  had  already  thought  upon  a  friend 
whom  she  wished  to  supply  her  place.  The  wedding  was  fixed 
for  an  early  day,  and  it  would  not  do  to  propose  any  alterations; 
tnough  Edith  began  to  see  that  her  feelings  throughout  the 
whole  affair  uad  not  been  entirely  unblameable,  and  now  that  the 
immediate  annoyance  was  over,  she  would  willingly  have  been 


GERTRUDE.  37 


llis  first  to  conciliate.  But  the  time  was  gone  by;  Edward  en- 
gaged to  meet  his  sister  Charlotte  in  London,  and  Edith  bade 
her  good-by  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  almost  the  conviction  that 
her  proper  place  would  have  been  by  her  side. 

The  interest  of  so  very  important  an  event  raised  the  spirits 
of  both  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Jane,  and  their  many  maladies 
were  occasionally  forgotten  in  the  eagerness  with  which  Char- 
lotte's account  of  Oakhampton  and  its  inhabitants  was  expected. 
But  Edith  felt  that  little  comfort  was  likely  to  be  derived  from 
any  thing  that  her  sister  might  relate,  fcj'he  might  give  vivid 
descriptions  of  Miss  Howard's  personal  appearance,  and  <)f  the 
general  style  of  the  family;  but.  where  such  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion existed  on  the  most  important  points,  there  could  be  no  great 
dependence  on  the  judgment;  and  Edith  trusted  as  little  to 
Charlotte's  estimation  of  character  as  Charlotte  did  to  Edith's 
taste  in  dress.  Her  only  consolation  was  found  in  writing  to 
Gertrude;  vet  even  this  was  far  from  satisfactory,  while  one  of 
the  chief  causes  of  uneasiness  was  obliged  to  be  withheld.  It 
seemed  absurd  to  grieve  so  much  over  Edward's  marriage  when 
unacquainted  with  his  wife  ;  and  the  necessity  for  economy,  of 
which  Edith  thought  so  much,  was  a  fact  unknown  to  all  but 
herself. 

The  congratulations  of  the  neighborhood  were  soon  added  to 
the  list  of  annoyances,  and  Edith  scarcely  knew  which  was  the 
must  painful.  Miss  Forester's  soft  flattery  of  her  brother's  per- 
fections,  and  ironical  praises  of  the  self-command  .shown  by 
herself  on  a  former  occasion  ;  or  Mrs.  Grantley's  earnest  declara- 
tion, that  "  Mr.  Courtenay  possessed  her  highest  esteem,  and  she 
only  trusted  he  had  found  a  wife  worthy  of  him."  Praise  of 
Edward  was  very  different  from  what  it  had  been.  Once  it 
would  have  found  a  ready  echo  in  her  own  opinion,  but  now  a 
ling  of  distrust  checked  her  satisfaction  ;  and  her  manner  be- 
came so  evidently  constrained  whenever  he  was  mentioned,  that 
even  the  most  unobservant  could  not  fail  to  notice  it  ;  and  the 
gossiping  morning  visitors  shook  their  heads,  and  looked  grave, 
as  they  hoped  "Mr.  Courtenay's  marriage  was  approved  at  the 
Priory,  but  they  had  their  doubts."  But  the  view  of  Allinghaui 
was  that  which  caused  Edith  the  greatest  pain.  The  road 
through  the  park  could  be  seen  from  the  Priory  drawing-room- 
and  she  seldom  stool  al  the  window  withoul  observing  .some  ■;• 
the  workmen  employed  in  the  alterations,  for  which  Edward  ha.'. 
eady  given  full  directions,  passing  backwards  and  forwards; 
or  if  she  failed  to  notice  them  herself,  her  mother  was  sure  to 
call  her  attention  to  them,  or  Jane  to  remark—"  What  a  happy 
hing  it  was  that  Edward  was  rich,  for  really  his  ideas  were  bo 
magnificent,  that  a  man  with  a  smaller  income  would  soon  be 
ruined."      0'  what    was  doing  Edith   had  not  a  very  clear  idea. 


38  GERTRUDE. 


Her  mother  and  sister  often  drove  to  the  house  to  note  the  pro- 
gress of  the  work,  but  site  resolutely  kept  from  inquiries  on  theii 
return,  as  tending  to  fix  in  her  mind  the  thoughts  she  was  mos* 
anxious  to  banish  ;  and  enough  was  heard  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  conversation,  of  boudoirs,  and  ante-rooms,  cornices,  moulding, 
damask,  silk,  rosewood,  and  mahogany,  and  the  other  et  ceteras 
of  an  upholsterer's  shop,  to  convince  her  that  for  once  Edward7? 
dreams  were  about  to  be  converted  into  substantial  realities 
From  Charlotte's  first  letter,  on  her  arrival  in  town,  they  found 
that  the  idea  of  mutual  consultation  as  to  the  style  of  furniture 
had  quickly  passed  by.  Edward's  impatience  was  too  great  to 
brook  delay  ;  and  Charlotte  rejoiced  that  she  had  been  spared 
the  thankless  task  of  endeavoring  to  decide  for  a  man  bent  upon 
following  his  own  way  ;  and  said  she  had  little  doubt,  from  the 
description  of  what  had  been  chosen,  that  Allingham  would  be 
more  handsomely  fitted  up  than  any  place  of  its  size  within  the. 
distance  of  a  hundred  miles. 

The  words  sent  a  pang  through  Edith's  heart,  and  she  became 
more  and  more  depressed  ;  and  feeling  a  difficulty  in  writing 
without  restraint,  she  allowed  the  burden  of  the  correspondence 
to  re&t  with  her  mother  and  Jane  ;  and  only  twice  contrived  to 
fill  a  sheet  of  paper  with  the  common-place  hopes  and  fears, 
which  might  prevent  Edward  from  thinking  himself  entirely 
forgotten.  Even  this  was  only  cursorily  noticed  in  some  or  his 
short  notes.  Edward's  heart  was  engrossed  ;  and  Edith,  though 
piqued  at  his  neglect,  was  thankful  to  be  freed  from  the  task  so 
easily. 

Happily  for  her  equanimity,  there  was  at  the  time  much  em- 
ployment for  her  in  the  village,  and  she  was  prevented  from 
dwelling  entirely  upon  one  subject.  Yet  the  visits  to  the  cotta- 
ges was  often  vory  trying.  The  people  were  so  desirous  of  know- 
ing all  particulars;  so  certain  that  Miss  Edith  must  be  happy  ;  so 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  a  lady  at  the  Hall  :  and  above  all,  so 
curious  about  the  grand  alterations,  that  Edith's  composure  was 
sometimes  nearly  overcome.  Edward's  old  nurse,  in  particular, 
assailed  her  with  questions  ;  and  being  ill  and  infirm,  had  a  great 
claim  upon  her  attention.  Once  a  week,  Edith  had  lately  been 
in  the  habi<  of  seeing  her  ;  and  it  seemed  unkind  to  make  any 
change  at  a  moment  when  there  was  much  passing  that  was  in- 
teresting; although  the  old  woman's  querulous  disposition,  and 
apparently  unwilling  gratitude,  made  it  occasionally  doubtful 
whether  the  visits  were  really  valued. 

"  1  thought  you  was  never  a-coming  again."  was  her  saluta- 
tion, as  Edith  entered  her  cottage,  after  a  fatiguing  walk,  which 
she  had  voluntarily  lengthened  to  avoid  passing  through  the 
park ;  "  I  sat  all  day  yesterday  expecting  you,  but  nobody  came 


GERTRUDE.  iiS 


"  I  was  too  busy,  nurse,"  said  Edith  ;  "  don't  you  remember 
f  told  you  there  was  a  great  deal  to  do  just  now,  and  that  I  could 
not  be  sure  of  my  own  time  1" 

"  Well !  I  suppose  there  must  be  a  good  deal.  Fine  works 
there  are  up  there  at  the  house.  It's  quite  right  great  people's 
ousiness  should  be  attended  to  first." 

"  But  indeed,  Martha,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  house ;  I 
never  go  near  it." 

"  Now  don't  you  tell  me  that,  Miss  Edith.    "Why,  all  the  neigh 
bors   go  ;  my  son  was   down  here  last  night,  talking  about  it 
Poor  Willie  !  he's  got  a   hard  lot  of  it — a  sick  wife  and  seven 
children.     If  so  be  as  he'd  gone  with  the  rest,  he'd  have  had  less 
trouble." 

.Martha's  voice  sank  into  a  low-  whine,  and  bending  over  the 
fire,  she  diligently  stirred  the  smouldering  embers  ;  and  in  a 
half-crying,  half-muttering  tone,  continued  her  lamentations. 

"  Poor  Charlie  and  Beckv  !  I  grieved  for  'em  at  the  time  ; 
and  sure,  if  they'd  lived,  things  wouldn't  have  been  like  they  are  ; 
and  I'm  so  old,  and  so  ill,  and  nobody  comes  to  an  old  woman. 
Bat  dear  !  Miss  Edith,"  and  in  an  instant  all  her  sorrows  were 
forgotten  :  "  did  you  see  the  cart  go  by  '?  There's  some  things 
for  the  park  in  it,  I'll  be  bound.  Just  sit  down,  and  tell  me  what 
they're  doing." 

••  1  told  you  all  I  knew  the  other  day,  nurse,"  replied  Edith. 
"  Really,  1  have  nol  i>  en  there  since." 

"  Thai's  so  contrary  of  you  ;  you  never  was  contrary  before. 
Willie  said  there  was  a  power  of  money  spending,  and  he  made 
me  look  across  to  see  where  my  lady's  new  room  is  to  be  ;  that's 
the  room  that  the  colonel's  lady  had  :  1  watched  Tom  Slater  at 
work  there  this  morning.  Poor  Tom!  he  was  to  have  married 
my  Becky,  only  there — she  died." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  very  steady,"  observed  Edith,  wishing 
to  change  the  conversation. 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,  he's  jusl  like  all  the  others;  hut  he's  doing 
\<  iv  fair  now.  I  wish  Willie  was  half  as  well  oil".  The  bailiff 
tin  ned  off  in  a  huff  when  he  asked  for  something  to  do." 

"  My  brother  will  assist  him,  if  he  can,  I  am  sure,"  said  Edith, 
"  when  he  returns.'1 

'•  Yes,  I  dare  say  he  will  ;  though  Willie's  been  out  of  work  a 
precious  lon'_r  time — but  I  don't  complain.  It's  not  my  way  to 
find  fault, — if  it  was  I  should  be  better  oil"." 

Edith's  patience  was  almost  exhausted;  but  as  she  looked  at 
(he  old  woman's  shrivelled  features  and  bent  figure,  and  remem- 
bered bow  much  she  bad  really  Suffered,  and  the  warmth  'i! 
heart  that  w  a  -  concealed  under  so  repulsive  a  manner,  her  sym- 
pathy was  again  excited. 

■•  I  don't  think  thnt  is  quite  the  ca  e,  Martha,"  she  said  ;  "  at 


10  GERTRUDE. 


least  I  am  sure  if  you  mean  that  my  brother  does  not  think  ol 
you,  von  are  very  much  mistaken." 

"  May  be,"  replied  Martha,  bending  again  over  the  fire,  and 
then  remaining  silent. 

"  Come,  nurse,"  said  Edith,  "  1  did  not  think  you  would  be 
vexed  with  me  to-day.  I  really  put  myself  out  of  my  way  for 
you.     I  was  very  busy  at  home." 

"  You  gets  busier  and  busier  every  day,"  answered  the  old 
woman.  "  1  suppose  when  the  new  lady  comes  to  the  Park, 
you'll  be  so  busy  that  you'll  never  come  near  me." 

Edith  rose  hastily  from  her  seat,  and  was  preparing  to  g", 
when  Martha's  heart  softened. 

"  There,  don't  you  be  angry  now,  Miss  Edith,  I  meant  no  of- 
fence. Sit  down  again,  and  just  tell  me  a  little  about  things. 
When  is  the  wedding  to  be]" 

"  The  day  is  not  fixed,"  said  Edith,  reseating  herself  on  a 
wooden  stool  by  Martha's  side  ;  "  but  I  think  it  will  be  early  in 
the  week  after  next." 

"  And  you  not  to  go  to  it. !  really  it's  a  shame  !  so  fond  as  you 
were  of  Mr.  Edward.     Why  didn't  you  say  you  would  go  1" 

"  Because  I  had  rather  not,  nurse  :  I  shall  see  Edward  very 
soon  here — he  is  to  be  at  Allingham  in  about  a  month  after  his 
marriage." 

"  That's  not  like  you,"  said  Martha,  raising  her  keen  eyes  to 
Edith's  face.  "  I  dare  to  say,  now,  you'd  have  been  just  as  well 
content  if  he  wasn't  going  to  have  such  a  fine  new  wife." 

•'  I  shall  be  most  contented  with  whatever  makes  him  mos! 
happy,"  said  Edith,  involuntarily  sighing  ;  and  then  she  added, 
more  gayly,  "  it  will  be  a  nice  thing  for  you,  nurse,  to  have  a 
lady  so  near  you.  It  is  rather  a  long  walk  for  me  from  the  Priory, 
but  if  I  lived  at  Allingham  I  should  be  able  to  see  you  nearly 
every  day." 

"  Tom  Slater  says  he  doesn't  think  I  shall  stay  here  much 
longer,"  said  Martha,  "but  I  told  him  I  knew  belter  than  that — 
Mr.  Edward  promised  I  never  should  move  again — so  I  don't 
take  what  the  neighbors  say  much  to  heart." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  replied  Edith  :  "  does  he  think 
you're  ill  ]" 

"  No,  no,  not  that.  Thank  God !  I  am  as  strong  and  hearty 
as  any  of  them  :  but  the  sight  from  my  lady's  new  window  is  not 
so  good  as  it  would  be  if  the  cottage  was  away  ;  and  the  chatter- 
ing fellow  declares  Mr.  Edward  will  have  it  pulled  down." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  be  afraid  of  that :  Edward  would 
rather  have  the  finest  view  in  the  world  spoilt,  than  turn  you  out 
of  your  home.  But  let  me  see  how  it  comes  in  the  way."  Edith 
walked  to  the  door,  and  saw  directly,  that  the  remarkably  ugly, 
red-brick  tenement  stood  opposite  to  the  front  of  Allingham;  but 


GERTRUDE.  41 


row  much  of  the  view  was  intercepted  by  it  she  could  not  deter- 
mine. 

If  any  but  Martha  had  inhabited  the  obnoxious  dwelling,  there 
was  no  doubt  it  would  have  been  speedily  removed  ;  but  Edward's 
attachment  to  his  nurse  was  very  sincere,  and  he  had  so  often 
promised  that  she  should  remain  in  the  cottage  as  long  as  he  was 
I  he  owner  of  it,  and  Edith  agreed  with  Martha  in  considering 
any  change  impossible. 

"  Tom  Slater  says  there's  no  guessing  how  bad  it  looks  from 
the  new  room,"  said  Martha  ;  "  but  how  should  he  know  ?  He 
can't  tell  pretty  from  ugly  if  he  sees  it  in  a  book." 

"It  does*  come  just  in  the  way  of  the  new  window,"  said 
Edith  ;  and  she  thought  of  her  sister-in-law,  and  wondered 
whether  she  would  be  able  to  endure  such  a  blot  upon  the  pros- 
pect. 

"  But  there's  no  doubt  about  Mr.  Edward's  promise,  is  there, 
now  V  asked  Martha,  anxiously.  "  He  told  me  I  should  stay 
here— three  times  he  said  it ;  the  very  first  day  I  came  in,  that 
was  ;  when  my  poor  husband  was  so  ill,  and  they  turned  us  out 
of  the  cottage  on  the  heath,  because  of  the  rent.  I  could  never 
fro  to  a  new  place  in  this  world  ;  if  he  sends  me  away,  it  will  he 
to  another." 

"  Don't  worry  yourself  about  it,"  said  Edith,  kindly.  "  It  is 
only  the  workmen's  fancy.  Edward  is  so  good,  you  need  not  be 
afraid." 

Martha  was  rather  deaf,  and  not  much  alive  to  variations  of 
tone,  or  she  would  have  noticed  the  slight  hesitation  with  which 
this  was  spoken.  Not  that  Edward's  kindness  of  heart  was 
really  doubted,  but  it  was  no  longer  so  implicitly  confided  in  ;  and 
without  exact  reasoning  upon  her  motives,  Edith  decided  upon 
returning  home  through  the  Park,  in  order  to  judge  for  herself 
whether  .Martha  Philips' cottage  was  as  great  a  desight  as  it  had 

loo  o 

t'crn  described. 


(J  II  A  PTE  R    V  . 

THfiEE  weeks  had  elapsed  since  Edith  last  visited  Allingham, 
and  in  that  time  tin:  improvements   bad  made  considerable  pro- 
is  ;  hut  the  good  taste  displayed  in  every  thing  that  Edward 
undertook,  brought  no  charm   to   his   sister's  mind  ;  lor  as  she 
gazed    upon    the   elngan  'e   and    beauty   which    surrounded    her, 


42  GERTRUDE. 


something  in  her  own  heart  whispered  that  Edward's  fabric  of 
happiness  was  insecure.  It  was  based  upon  self-gratification; 
not  upon  self-denial.  A  short  time  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  hei 
curiosity,  and  to  show  that  the  offending  cottage  was  conspicuously 
ugly  ;  and  after  wandering  over  the  empty  rooms,  and  asking  a 
few  questions  of  the  workmen,  Edith  sadly  pursued  her  way  home- 
wards. The  autumna.  tints  were  just  beginning  to  color  the  foli- 
age of  the  trees,  adding  a  richer  hue  to  the  broad  masses  of  light 
and  shade,  so  peculiarly  beautiful  in  park  and  forest  scenery  ; 
and  even  Edith's  melancholy  reflections  were  beguiled,  as  she 
paused  on  the  summit  of  a  slight  ascent,  and  looked  back  upon 
her  brother's  home.  The  long  regular  range  of  buildings,  the 
portico  and  colonnade,  the  straight  walks  and  the  formal  par- 
terres of  the  Italian  garden,  contrasted  indeed  curiously  with 
the  wildness  of  the  luxuriant  oaks  and  beeches,  and  the  winding 
glades  of  the  park  ;  but  in  the  mellowed  light  of  the  afternoon 
sun,  every  object  seemed  harmonized  in  form  as  well  as  in 
color,  and  the  only  impression  made  upon  the  mind  was  that  of 
an  abode  of  peace,  wealth,  and  freedom  from  earthly  anxieties. 
Edith  leant  against  the  trunk  of  a  magnificent  beech  tree,  near 
which  she  had  often  rested  with  her  brother  to  enjoy  the  same 
view ;  and  while  recalling  his  tones  of  kindness,  and  his  warm 
feelings,  and  noble  projects,  reproached  herself  for  having  ever 
imagined  the  possibility  of  a  change.  That  one  spot  brought 
him  more  vividly  before  her  than  almost  any  other,  for  it  was 
there  they  had  last  parted  ;  and  she  well  remembered  the  de- 
light visible  in  his  countenance,  as  he  pointed  to  the  hamlet 
where  he  hoped  one  day  to  erect  a  church,  and  calculated  the 
smallness  of  the  sum  to  which  he  might  reduce  his  personal  ex- 
penditure, in  order  to  obtain  the  necessary  means  ;  expressing, 
at  the  same  time,  the  deepest  gratitude  for  having  been  trained 
in  habits  of  prudence  before  he  had  been  intrusted  with  wealth. 
Eor  the  time,  Edith's  feelings  of  confidence  in  her  brother  re- 
turned, and  with  it  the  dreams  which  had  been  a  constant  source 
of  enjoyment  to  them  both.  Her  eye  rested  happily  upon  the 
distant  cottages,  and  her  imagination  pictured  the  spire  of  Ed- 
ward's church  appearing  amongst  the  trees,  and  adding,  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery,  those  associations  of  purity  and  holiness 
without  which  the  loveliness  of  nature  can  afford  no  perfect  en- 
joyment. A  slight  rustling  amongst  the  leaves  disturbed  her 
revery,  and  turning  suddenly  round,  she  perceived  a  gentleman, 
whom  at  first  sight  she  believed  to  be  unknown  to  her  ;  but  as  he 
came  nearer,  she  recognised  the  stranger  who  had  lately  been 
seen  at  church  in  General  Forester's  pew  ;  and  about  whom  so 
much  curiosity  haa  been  excited,  as  almost  to  rival  the  interest 
of  her  brother's  marriage.  Edith  had  never  been  introduced  to 
Mr.  Dacre,  but  they  had  met  so  frequently  as  scarcely  to  require 


GERTRUDE. 


43 


»he  ceremony:  and  she  felt  little  surprise  when  he  advanced  to- 
wards her,  and  apologized  for  intruding  upon  her  brother's  prop- 
erty, saying  that  permission  had  been  given  him  by  Mr.  Courte- 
nay's  friend,  General  Forester,  to  wander  over  the  park  ;  and  he 
trusted  he  had  not  presumed  too  far  in  approaching  so  near  the 
house.  His  excuse  must  be,  the  wish  again  to  see  a  place  which 
he  remembered  when  a  boy.  Edith  was,  of  course,  pleased  that 
the  park  should  afford  Mr.  Dacre  any  gratification  ;  and  was  cer- 
tain it  would  be  her  brother's  wish  that  it  should  be  open  to  him 
at  all  times. 

"  For  the  next  month,"  she  added,  "  you  will  be  likely  to  re- 
tain undisturbed  possession.  We  do  not  expect  my  brother  home 
yet." 

'•I  suppose,  though,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre,  "it  is  a  favorite 
walk  of  yours." 

"Yes,"  replied  Edith,  "  I  never  come  here  without  admiring 
it  :  but  there  are  so  many  things  to  be  done  every  day,  that  I  sel- 
dom walk  merely  for  pleasure." 

'•  You  should  become  something  of  an  invalid,  like  myself," 
said  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "and  take  out  a  license  from  the  court  of  con- 
science to  kill  time  in  the  most  agreeable  way." 

"It  must  be  a  tiresome  occupation,"  observed  Edith. 

'•  Yes,  if  you  really  make  it  a  pursuit :  but  time  may  die  a  very 
innocent  and  peaceful  death  in  such  a  place  as  this." 

'•Provided  one  has  a  license,"  said  Edith,  smiling ;  "but  it 
pleases  me  better  to  have  no  time  to  kill." 

Mr.  Dacre  Bighed,  and  a  passing  contraction  of  his  forehead 
showed  some  painful  thoughts  had  been  awakened.  "I  agree 
with  you,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sure  one  of  the  great  secrets  of  hap- 
piness is  to  have  no  moment  unemployed  ;  but  illness  is  a  sterr 
in:i>ter,  even  to  the  most  active." 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong,"  said  Edith  ;  "  yet  I  think  I  would 
rather  die  than  be  condemned  to  a  useless  life." 

'■  Are  we  the  best  judges  of  what  is  useful  !"  replied  Mr.  Da- 
cre. "  Don't  you  think  we  are  too  much  in  the  habit  of  consid- 
ering no  actions  important  but  obvious  and  exciting  ones  ?  The 
moment  anv  occupation  becomes  a  duty,  even  if  it  is  merely  pick- 
ing straws,  it  ceases  to  he  useless,  and"  the  it  aimer  in  which  we 
do  it  must  he  of  infinite  consequence." 

Edith  did  not  know  what  to  reply,  for  she  was  surprised  at  the 
turn  the  conversation  had  taken.  "Perhaps,"  continued  .Mr. 
Dacre,  thinking  that  she  wished  to  return  home,  "you  would  al- 
low me  to  walk  through  the  park  with  you.  I  have  been  here  a 
lonf>  time,  and  General  Forester  will  scarcely  forgive  me  if  I 
keep  his  dinner  waiting." 

Edith  willingly  assented,  feeling  an  unusual  degree  of  interesl 
in  her  new  acquaintance  ;  hut  she  was  too  shy  to  renew  the  sub- 


14  GERTRUDE 


ject  that  had  been  dropped,  and  Mr.  Dacre  did  not  again  allude 
to  it. 

"Your  brother  is  losing  a  beautiful  season,"  he  said  ;  "  I  can 
scarcely  imagine  any  place  having  charms  for  him  like  this." 

Edith  smiled,  but  it  was  a  smile  quickly  succeeded  by  a  sigl 
"  You  would  not  say  that,"  she  replied,  "  if  you  were  as  well  ac 
quainted  with  his  affairs  as  the  rest  of  the  Elsham  people."  She 
did  not  see  Mr.  Dacre's  face,  or  she  might  have  remarked  the 
half-serious,  half-amused  expression,  with  which  he  answered, 
"  Mr.  Courtenay  is  not  entirely  a  stranger.  I  have  heard  of  his 
intended  marriage  :  it  is  a  subject  of  general  conversation." 

"Yes,"  said  Edith,  "  I  dare  say  the  world  is  acquainted,  or 
thinks  itself  acquainted  with  the  most  minute  particulars." 

"  Even  the  color  of  the  bridal  dress,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre  ; 
"  and  if  so  much  is  said  beforehand,  what  will  it  be  after- 
wards]" 

"  I  shall  not  envy  my  sister-in-law's  position  for  the  first  few 
months,"  continued  Edith.  "  I  don't  think  women  were  formed 
for  notoriety  of  any  kind  :  it  must  alway*s  make  them  feel  awk- 
ward and  out  of  place." 

"  Happily  it  will  only  be  for  a  few  months,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  ; 

and  when  the  excitement  of  the  arrival  is  over,  we  may  hope 
real  happiness  will  begin." 

"  The  situation  seems  very  enviable,"  said  Edith  ;  "  almost 
enough  so  to  be  alarming.  Few  people  are  permitted  to  enjoy 
uninterrupted  prosperity." 

"  Very  few  ;  but  I  suspect  the  fault  lies  in  themselves.     The 
i  i  d  is  too  great." 

"  And  money  makes  a  person  so  independent,"  said  Edith 
"  It  is  seldom  a  rich  man  hears  truth,  even  from  his  own  rela- 
tions." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  that  is  one  of  its  greatest  evils.  There  is  an 
indirect  influence,  though,  which  no  one  is  beyond  the  reach  of, 
and  I  think  it  always  more  powerful  than  advice." 

As  Mr.  Dacre  said  this,  they  reached  the  park  gates;  but  he 
was  plainly  determined  to  pursue  the  conversation,  for,  unmind- 
ful of  General  Forester's  dinner-hour,  he  continued  his  walk  in 
the  direction  of  the  Priory. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  what 
influence  do  you  mean  '?" 

"  Affection.  A  young  man  will  often  be  led  by  a  brother  or  a 
sister  when  he  would  not  listen  to  his  father  or  mother." 

"  Leave  out  the,  sisters,"  said  Edith.  "  Brothers  are  not  apt 
lo  pay  much  attention  to  them." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  You  speak  from  belief; 
I  speak  from  experience.  The  greatest  blessing  of  my  life  was 
the  example  of  a  sister." 


GERTRUDE  45 


"  Edward  would  think  some  wonderful  change  had  taken 
place  if  I  were  to  presume  to  offer  him  advice,'"  said  Edith, 
laughing. 

"  But  advice  is  not  the  necessary  form  of  influence,"  replied 
Mr.  Dacre.  "  We  may  safely  act  as  drags  to  a  wheel  which  is 
going  too  fast  when  we  should  he  crushed  in  attempting  to 
stop  it." 

"  Edward  has  chosen  a  drag  for  himself  now,"  said  Edith. 
with  a  slight  sharpness  of  tone,  which  did  not  escape  her  com- 
panion's observant  ear. 

'■  Or  is  there  but  another  wheel  added,  which  may  accelerate 
the  motion  ?u 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Edith.  "  Yet  it  may  be  dangerous  for 
by-stand ers  to  interfere." 

"  Of  that  I  can  be  no  judge,"  said  Mr.  Dacre.  "  My  observa- 
tions were  only  general.  But  I  believe  we  often  commit  fatal 
errors  from  the  belief  that  we  have  no  influence." 

There  was  an  earnestness  in  his  manner  which  struck  Edith 
forcibly.  It  was  so  different  from  the  tone  of  an  ordinary  ac- 
quaintance, that  for  an  instant  she  fancied  Mr.  Dacre  must  have 
had  some  secret  meaning  in  his  remarks  ;  but  a  little  reflection 
convinced  her  of  the  improbability  of  the  idea.  They  parted  at 
the  Priory  Lodge.  Edith  walked  slowly  to  the  house,  thinking 
of  the  unusual  pleasure  she  had  experienced  ;  and  Mr.  Dacre 
stood  by  the  gate  till  she  was  out  of  sight,  watching  her  with 
evident  interest,  and  then,  with  a  sigh,  retraced  his  steps  towards 
the  Grange. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


"  A  letter  from  Charlotte  at  last,"  exclaimed  Jane  Courte- 
nay,  on  the  following  morning.  "  Now,  I  suppose  we  shall  hear 
all  the  particulars,"  and  her  eye  ran  rapidly  over  the  crossed 
sheets  ;  while  a  few  of  the  principal  subjects  were  enumerated. 
'■  Very  busy — wedding  fixed  for  Thursday,  because  of  an  old 
uncle  going  away.  The  archdeacon  of  some  place  or  other  to 
perform  the  ceremony — Bride's  dress  white  silk,  Honiton  lace 
veil. — Bridesmaids  to  be  all  alike — pale  blue  watered  silk — 
Donnets  sent  for  from  Paris — jewels  magnificent — Edward  spend- 
ing a  fortune — carriage  the  most  elegant  affair  that  can  be 
igined — Edward  a  universal  favorite — told  to   his  face  that 


46  GERTRUDE. 


he  is  perfection.     Slight  symptoms  of  conceit  in  consequence 
Tell  Edith  this — it  will  please  her." 

"  No.  indeed,  )'ou  shall  not  tell  me,"  exclaimed  Edith,  inter- 
rupting her  sister  "  Nothing  is  so  provoking  as  to  hear  bits  of 
a  letter  in  that  manner.  Do  let  me  have  the  satisfaction  oi 
reading  it  all  quietly  to  myself." 

"  Nay,  but  you  must  listen  to  this,"  said  Jane  ;  "  it  is  just  \t 
your  way.  All  the  villagers  are  to  have  a  fete  on  the  wedding 
day,  and  Edward  intends  giving  new  frocks  and  bonnets  to 
twenty  of  the  school  girls,  and  new  jackets  and  hats  to  the  same 
number  of  boys  ;  and  he  talks  to  me  about  the  patterns  of  cot- 
tons and  the  shape  of  bonnets  till  I  begin  to  think  the  wedding 
dress  an  affair  of  much  less  consequence." 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done  at  Allingham  V  asked  Edith.  "  1 
should  have  thought  Mr.  Howard  might  have  provided  for  Oak- 
hampton  himself." 

"  Not  when  he  has  such  a  long  purse  and  such  a  ready  hand 
near,  to  save  him  the  trouble,"  said  Jane.  "  Let  me  see,  there 
is  a  postscript  about  Allingham.  Edward  has  written  to  the 
bailiff  to  provide  a  dinner  for  the  tenants  ;  and  he  hopes  you  will 
all  go  and  see  them  enjoy  themselves." 

"  There  will  be  a  sufficient  occupation  for  you,  Edith." 

"  Mrs.  Grantley  talked  about  the  school  children,"  replied 
Edith.  "  I  don't  mean  that  she  intended  they  should  be  feasted 
at  Edward's  expense  ;  but  she  wishes  them  to  have  some  pleas- 
ure to  mark  the  day,  because  many  of  them  are  the  children  of 
his  tenants  ;  and  I  said  I  was  sure  mamma  would  assist." 

"  Poor  little  things,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "  It  is  hard  they 
should  not  be  happy  one  day  in  their  lives.  You  arrange  every 
thing,  my  dear,  and  then  tell  me  about  it  afterwards." 

"  It  makes  me  ill  to  think  of  it,"  said  Jane,  yawning.  "  Such 
a  quantity  of  trouble  for  such  a  set  of  dirty  little  creatures  ! 
What  can  be  the  good  of  giving  them  a  taste  for  things  which 
they  will  never  have  when  they  grow  up  I  It  will  be  long 
before  they  have  tea  and  plum  cake  again  when  they  once  leave 
school." 

"  So  much  the  more  reason  that  they  should  enjoy  it  now," 
replied  Edith.  "  If  your  principle  had  been  acted  upon,  Jane, 
we  should  all  have  been  miserable  children,  for  it  is  impossible 
to  have  the  same  pleasures  at  twenty  that  we  had  at  ten." 

''  Perhaps  so,"  said  Jane,  languidly.  "  I  shall  be  glad  when 
it  is  all  over  ;  one  has  lived  in  such  a  whirl  lately,  that  none  but 
a  strong  person  can  stand  it.  How  I  envy  you,  Edith — nothing 
seems  to  annoy  you." 

If  Jane  had   known   what  was  passing  in  her  sister's  mind 
the   words    might  have  been  unsaid.     Edith  had  taken  up  the 
tier,  and  after  turning  to  the  account  of  Edward's  plan  for  tin 


»■ 


GERTRUDE.  47 


Oakhampton  school,  was  thinking  of  the  reasons  which  could 
induce  him  to  consult  Charlotte  on  such  subjects  rather  than 
Miss  Howard.  The  only  explanation  was  in  the  supposition, 
that  to  the  latter  it  was  an  affair  of  no  interest ;  and  the  circum- 
stance, though  slight,  contributed  to  strengthen  Edith's  prejudice. 
It  would  have  been  happy,  if  some  friend,  wiser  ..han  herself,  had 
been  near,  to  caution  her  against  a  rapid  judgment,  even  when 
drawn  from  facts  ;  but  the  only  person  who  could  have  advised 
her  was  Gertrude,  and  to  her  Edith  had  only  mentioned,  in 
general  terms,  a  fear  that  Edward's  marriage  was  hasty,  and 
though  Gertrude,  in  answer,  had  spoken  of  the  care  and  con- 
sideration which  might  be  required  iu  the  future  intercourse 
between  Allingham  and  the  Priory,  Edith  did  not  apply  the 
observation  to  herself;  having  no  idea  that  she  was  likely  to  be 
tempted  to  say  or  do  any  thing  which  would  give  offence. 

No  more  letters  were  expected  before  the  important  one 
which  was  to  announce  that  the  marriage  had  taken  place,  and 
it  was  thought  better  to  defer  all  rejoicing,  till  the  fact  was  pos- 
itively known.  There  were  so  many  wonderful  stories  of  brides 
and  bridegrooms  dying,  or  quarrelling,  or  changing  their  mind, 
at  the  very  last  moment,  that  the  Committee  of  the  Elsham 
National  School  decided  it  would  be  less  presumptuous  to  wait 
and  not  run  the  risk  of  wishing  health  and  prosperity  to  Mrs. 
Courtenay  of  Allingham,  when  no  such  person  might  be  in 
existence.  But  Edith  had  no  fears.  From  the  first  moment 
she  felt  that  there  was  little  hope  of  escape.  All  was  easy  and 
bright — a  practical  comment  upon  Csesar's  motto,  "  Came,  saw, 
and  conquered."  And  yet,  when  the  thirteenth  of  October  ar- 
rived, and  with  it  the  expected  packet  from  Oakhampton,  her 
heart  beat  quickly,  and  as  her  eye  caught  the  joint  names  at  the 
bottom  of  her  brother's  letter,  she  felt  even  greater  pain  than 
she  had  anticipated. 

'•  \  ou  will  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Grantley,  I  suppose,"  said  Jane, 
when  she  had  finished  Charlotte's  glowing  account  of  the  wed- 
ding— with  the  titled  guests — and  the  carriage  and  four — and 
the  school  children — and  the  breakfast — and  all  the  other  et 
ceteras  by  which  such  events  are  celebrated,  both  by  those  who 
can,  and  those  who  cannot  afford  it;  "and  we  may  as  well  send 
to  Rayner,  and  ask  him  what,  lias  been  settled  about  the  dinner- 
I  suppose  we  must  drive  to  the  park  to  look  at  them,  but  I  wish 
Edward  had  let  the  matter  rest  till  he  came  home." 

"No,  my  dear,"  ob  erved  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "that  would  have 
been  quite  wrong.  In  my  days  there  used  to  be  a  great  deal 
more  done.  Every  poor  person  in  the  parish  had  a  dinner  when 
I  was  married." 

■•  Edward  would  hive  had  enough  to  do  in  the  parish  of 
Elsham,  to  provide  for  the  two  thousand  poor,"  said  Jane.     "1 


48  GERTRUDE. 


think,  mamma,  as  you  patronize  the  thing  so  warmly,  you  had 
better  superintend  it,  and  leave  Edith  to  exercise  her  talents  in 
the  school  least.  It  will  be  a  great  relief  to  me  if  I  can  be  left 
out." 

"  And  so  it  would  be  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Courtenay,  sud- 
denly reminded  of  her  maladies.  "  I  thought  the  night  before 
last  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  send  for  Mr.  Humphries, — 1 
had  such  a  dreadful  pain  in  my  shoulder." 

"  Bilious,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Jane.  "  You  know,  mamma, 
you  would  eat  pudding  and  macaroni  at  dinner." 

"  Mr.  Humphries  declares  it  is  rheumatism,"  said  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay.    "  I  must  ask  one  of  you  to  rub  my  shoulder  for  me." 

"  I  would,  if  I  were  not  obliged  to  go  to  bed  early,"  said  Jane. 
"  Edith,  you  don't  mind  being  late." 

"  I  am  obliged  not  to  mind  it,"  said  Edith  ;  "  there  is  no  time 
to  do  any  thing  in  the  day — but  I  heard  you  moving  about  until 
half-past  twelve  last  night." 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  finish  a  book  ;  and  see  how  ill  I  am  to- 
day in  consequence." 

"  The  night  before,  it  was  twelve,"  continued  Edith — and 
then,  seeing  the  angry  flush  on  Jane's  cheek,  she  stopped,  vexed 
at  having  persisted  in  a  disagreeable  conversation — and  seated 
herself  at  the  table  to  calculate  the  expenses  of  the  school  feast. 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  are  so  careless.  Just 
look,  you  have  destroyed  that  nice  gilt-edged  paper  for  nothing : 
why  will  you  always  write  from  that  portfolio  V 

"  I  forgot,"  replied  Edith,  and  she  took  a  common  sheet. 

"Oh!  Edith,"  exclaimed  Jane,  "you  are  scribbling  on  the 
letter  I  had  begun,  and  yesterday  you  did  the  very  same  thing. 
No  one  ever  makes  such  blunders  as  you  do." 

"I  did  not  mean  any  harm,"  said  Edith,  "if  you  had  as 
many  things  to  think  of  as  I  have,  you  would  make  mistakes 
too." 

"  Charity  begins  at  home,  and  care  ought  to  do  the  same," 
said  Jane.  "I  do  think  you  benevolent  people  are  the  most 
tiresome  race  in  existence." 

Edith  had  recourse  to  silence — and  went  to  her  own  room, 
•vjth  a  passing  consciousness  that  it  might  be  better  to  attend 
n.ore  to  the  general  comfort  of  the  family. 

The  day  fixed  for  the  dinner  and  the  school  feast  was  un- 
usually fine  for  the  season,  and  even  Mrs.  Courtenay  threw  off 
her  fur  cloak,  as  she  stepped  into  the  open  carriage  that  was  to 
convey  her  to  the  Park,  and  allowed  that  it  might  be  possible 
to  enjoy  a  drive  in  the  month  of  October.  Jane  declined  going, 
under  pretence  of  not  being  able  to  bear  the  excitement,  while 
Edith  accompanied  her  mother  with  a  grave  countenance.^  to 
witness  rejoicings  in  which  she  by  no  means  participated.     The 


c;ertrude.  49 


dinner  was  painful ;  for  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  so  little  in  the  habit 
of  mixing  with  the  poor,  that  she  was  entirely  deficient  in  the 
ease  and  cordiality  which  win  their  affections  much  sooner  than 
even  words  or  actions.  With  hasty  steps  she  passed  along  the 
different  tables,  repeating,  as  a  matter  of  form,  that  '  she  hoped 
they  would  enjoy  themselves  ;"  and  Edith  lingered  behind,  en- 
deavoring to  efface  any  disagreeable  impression,  by  inquiring 
minutely  after  the  children  and  the  invalids  of  the  different  fam- 
ilies. 

Martha  Philips  was  present,  complaining  that  she  was  too  old 
for  such  grand  doings,  and  Edith  was  endeavoring  to  sooth  her, 
when  the  ohl  nurse  suddenly  recollected  her  fears  for  the  cot- 
tage ;  and  began  to  inquire  whether  Edith  really  thought  it  as 
ugly  as  she  had  been  told,  for  they  said,  "  that  Mr.  Edward's  la- 
dy came  from  a  hard  family,  and  she  would  be  sure  to  have  her 
own  way." 

"  Who  says  1  what  do  you  mean  V  asked  Edith  eagerly,  and 
bending  down  that  the  answer  might  not  be  overheard. 

"Tom  Slater  says  he  heard  it  from  one  of  the  London  work- 
men who  knew  all  about  them.  He  was  at  work  down  in  their 
country,  one  winter,  and  a  weary  time  he  had  of  it ;  but  never  a 
bit  of  help  from  the  great  folks." 

"  Here's  health  and  long  life  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Courtenay  '." 
cried  the  bailiff,  from  the  top  of  the  table,  "and  we'll  drink  it 
with  three  times  three." 

Edith's  heart  sank  within  her;  but  she  was  spared  the  pain  of 
such  ill-timed  rejoicing,  by  an  imploring  look  from  her  mother  ; 
who,  alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  the  stunning  noise,  requested 
that  the  cheers  might  be  deferred.  A  murmur  of  disapprobation 
ran  round  the  table,  and  the  weakness  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's  nerves 
gained  her  on  that  day  more  unpopularity  than  the  kindness  of 
weeks  could  have  retrieved. 

The  poor  are  seldom  conscious  of  the  existence  of  nerves  ; 
and  any  thing  which  shows  an  absence  of  sympathy  with  their 
feelings,  is  sooner  resented  than  even  the  neglect  of  their  bodily 
wants.  This  Edith  knew  ;  and,  vexed  and  uneasy,  she  hasten- 
ed her  mother  away,  and  advising  her  to  return  home,  walked  to 
t lie  school  alone. 

The  children  were  all  placed  in  order,  and  the  tea  and  cake 
distributed  ;  but  they  had  waited  for  her  as  the  Queen  of  the 
Day  ;  and  she  was  just  beginning  to  excuse  herself  for  being 
ate,  when  a  soft  voice  behind  her  murmured,  "A  peculiarly 
interesting  spectacle,  this,  Miss  Courtenay1' — Edith  turned,  and 
saw  Mi  Fori  >ter  leaning  on  her  uncle's  arm, — "most  gratify- 
ing to  you  it  must  be  in  every  way..  I  dare  say  you  will  remem- 
ber your  feelings  on  this  occasion  to  your  latest  moment. "  Of 
this  Edith  had  no  doubt,  but  whether  the   nature    of  the  feelings 


50  GERTRUDE. 

was  such  as  Miss  Forester  imagined  was  another  matter.  "  1 
need  not  introduce  my  uncle,"  Miss  Forester  was  going  to  say  ; 
but  she  checked  herself.  There  was  a  possibility  that  Mr.  Da- 
cre  might  not  choose  to  be  exhibited  in  such  an  old  relationship. 
"  I  believe  you  are  already  acquainted  with  Mr.  Dacre.  He  gave 
me  a  most  glowing  account  of  a  walk  in  Allingham  Park,  about 
a  week  ago." 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  dryly  :  "  we 
have  had  few  like  it." 

"  Miss  Courtenay  has  such  powers  of  walking,"  observed  Miss 
Forester  ;  "  and  that  is  so  very  enviable.  I  should  not  have  been 
able  to  see  these  little  merry  creatures  this  afternoon,  if  my  fa- 
ther had  not  promised  to  call  for  me  in  the  carriage  at  five 
o'clock."  The  little  merry  creatures  were,  at  that  instant,  look- 
ing peculiarly  solemn,  waiting  for  Mr.  Grantley  to  say  grace ; 
and  Edith  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile. 

"  You  take  great  interest  in  the  school,  I  think,"  said  Mr. 
Dacre. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith,  simply  ;  "  it  is  my  hobby.  Every  one 
must  find  something  to  occupy  them  ;  but  of  course  I  am  only 
head  assistant." 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  in  these  cases,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  what  a 
blessing  eating  and  drinking  is.  You  might  try  for  years  with 
other  things,  before  you  could  make  these  children  feel,  as  plain- 
ly as  they  do  now,  that  they  were  cared  for." 

"  I  am  not  sure  they  understand  much  about  it  at  any  time," 
said  Edith,  smiling. 

"  We  will  try,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre.  "  What  do  you  say, 
my  little  fellow  ?"  and  he  patted  the  shoulder  of  a  flaxen-headed 
urchin,  who,  with  both  hands,  was  lifting  his  cake  to  his  mouth ; 
"  don't  you  think  Miss  Courtenay  is  the  kindest  young  lady  you 
ever  saw  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy,  still  fondly  clasping  his  treasure, 
and  speaking  with  his  mouth  full.    Edith  and  Mr.  Dacre  laughed. 

''  Oh !  but  that  is  rude,"  said  Miss  Forester,  who  had  been 
standing  close  behind  :  "  put  your  hands  down,  and  tell  us  if  you 
are  not  extremely  obliged  to  all  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
take  so  much  interest  in  your  welfare." 

The  boy  stared,  and  understanding  only  that  he  was  to  put  his 
bands  in  his  lap,  quickly  moved  them. 

"  There's  a  good  boy  !"  said  Miss  Forester  patronizingly,  and 
advancing  as  near  to  the  table  as  she  dared  without  touching  it. 
"  It  is  quite  delightful  to  see  them  brought  up  in  these  habits  of 
obedience.  You  must  be  very  fond  of  all  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, I  am  sure,  my  dear." 

"  He  is  more  fond  of  his  cake  than  of  any  thing  else,  just  now," 
half  whispered  Edith  ;  "  you  had  better  let  him  go  on." 


GERTRUDE.  51 


The  child,  seizin?  upon  the  permission,  snatched  up  his  cake, 
and  then,  lifting  his  cup  to  his  mouth  with  an  awkward  jerk 
divided  its  contents  between  Edith,  Miss  Forester,  and  the  floor. 

Miss  Forester  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  disgust, 
which  included  not  only  the  little  culprit  before  her,  but  all  oth- 
ers of  his  race  ;  while  Edith  wiped  her  dress,  and  began  to  as- 
sure the  boy  that  no  one  would  be  angry.  In  an  instant  Miss 
Forester  had  caught  the  words,  and  with  the  prospective  view 
of  sufficient  wealth  to  purchase  the  most  splendid  silks  in  Water- 
loo House,  thought  it  worth  while  to  sacrifice  her  fawn-colored 
satinet,  for  the  sake  of  appearing  amiable  in  Mr.  Dacre's  eye's. 
"  These  sudden  frights  make  one  nervous,"  she  said  ;  "  but  one 
would  bear  any  thing  rather  than  mar  their  enjoyment.  Don't 
think  any  thing  more  about  it,  my  dear.  Certainly  it  is  a  beau- 
tiful dress  spoiled  !"  and  her  voice  became  louder,  and  her  counte- 
nance flushed,  as  she  gazed  at  the  large  greasy  stain.  "  It  was 
a  present,  too,  from  my  father,  only  a  month  ago,  and  you  know," 
she  added,  with  a  pleading  apologetic  look  at  Mr.  Dacre,  "  we 
are  often  annoyed  at  these  misfortunes  for  a  friend's  sake,  when 
we  should  not  care  about  them  for  our  own." 

"It  is  rather  a  handsome  dress  for  the  occasion,"  said  Mr. 
Dacre,  as  his  eye  glanced  upon  Edith's  dark  silk,  and  straw 
bonnet. 

Miss  Forester  perceived  the  comparison,  and  her  previous 
dislike  to  Edith  was  not  a  little  increased.  "  It  is  rather  better, 
perhaps,  than  was  absolutely  necessary  ;  but  I  was  afraid  of 
keeping  you  waiting,  my  dear  sir  ;  and  therefore  chose  the  first 
dress  that  was  at  hand.  A  poor  woman  detained  me,  or  I  should 
have  gone  to  my  room  sooner." 

"  Oh  !"  was  Mr.  Dacre's  answer  ;  and  he  walked  away,  and 
began  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Grantley. 

Miss  Forester  remained  with  Edith,  and  pertinaciously  devoted 
herself  to  her  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  The  appearance  of 
interest  in  Mr.  Dacre's  manner  had  alarmed  her,  and  she  was 
resolved  there  should  be  no  more  tete-a-tetes.  Not  that  she  had 
formed  any  positive  plan  for  preventing  him  from  becoming  in- 
timate with  other  persons — she  acted  merely  from  the  impulse 
of  the  moment ;  and  perhaps,  if  her  motives  and  objects  had  been 
placed  before  her  in  words,  she  might  have  acknowledged  them 
to  be  wrong.  But  Miss  Forester  had  never  entered  upon  the 
task  of  self  examination.  The  outward  world,  with  its  pomp 
and  pride,  its  cares,  its  business,  and  its  pleasures,  was  to  her  all 
in  all  ;  and  engrossed  in  its  pursuits,  she  was  passing  through 
lie  without  devoting  one  moment  to  the  consideration  of  that 
busy  world  within — that  tumultuous  crowd  of  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, which  at  every  moment  are  born,  and  die,  and  are  forgot* 
ten,  b  it  upon  which  God  has  stamped  the  seal  of  immortality. 


52  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

The  dinner  and  the  school-feast,  the  congratulations  and  the 
visits,  passed  quickly,  as  all  human  events  must  pass  ;  and  left 
upon  Edith's  mind  only  the  recollection  of  the  effort  it  had  been 
to  keep  up  appearances,  and  avoid  betraying  to  the  world  the 
uneasiness  lurking  in  her  heart.  But  a  greater  trial  was  now 
approaching.  The  letters  from  the  travellers  spoke  of  their  wish 
to  return  home  earlier  than  they  had  at  first  intended.  The 
weather  was  unpropitious  for  excursions  ;  and  the  beauties  of 
Normandy  and  the  Seine  lost  much  of  their  c'harm  under  the 
depressing  influence  of  a  November  sky.  Not,  indeed,  such  a 
sky  as  that  which  weighs  down  the  spirit  of  an  unfortunate  Eng- 
lishman, in  a  country  village,  without  resources  in  himself,  01 
interest  in  his  neighbors,  but  nevertheless  one  sufficiently  gloomy 
to  make  even  a  bride  and  bridegroom  sigh  for  a  blazing  fire, 
and  the  cheerfulness  of  home  society.  Why  they  should  have 
visited  the  continent  at  all,  in  the  autumn,  for  so  short  a  time, 
was  a  subject  of  astonishment  to  their  friends.  But  Edward 
was  married  in  October, — a  month  proverbially  fine  ;  and  under 
the  influence  of  a  clear  sky,  a  bright  sun,  and  a  happy  heart,  he 
had,  as  usual,  allowed  the  brilliancy  of  the  present  to  hide  the 
coming  shadows  of  the  future,  and  persuaded  himself  that  noth- 
ing could  be  more  agreeable  than  to  give  Laura  a  foretaste  of  the 
pleasures  of  a  foreign  tour,  preparatory  to  a  longer  residence  in 
Italy  the  ensuing  year. 

The  dulness  of  the  weather  did  not,  however,  appear  to  have 
brought  any  change  in  their  real  enjoyment.  Both  were  evi- 
dently perfectly  happy  ;  and  even  Edith,  as  she  read  Edward's 
amusing  lamentation  over  their  disappointments,  and  Laura's 
affectionate  assurances  that  she  was  too  well  satisfied  to  find 
fault  with  passing  storms,  could  scarcely  tremble  for  the  pru- 
dence, of  the  step  her  brother  had  taken,  or  doubt  whether  he 
had  chosen  a  wife  suited  to  his  character.  Charlotte  was  still 
absent,  paying  a  round  of  visits  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lon- 
don :  there  was  therefore  no  opportunity  of  gaining  from  her 
any  of  the  minute  details  which  can  only  be  learnt  in  conversa 
iion,  and  with  which  Edith  longed   to  be  acnuainted  :  and  she 


GERTRUDE.  5£ 


was  obliged  to  summon  all  her  patience  and  occupy  herself  in 
her  ordinary  duties,  whilst  she  waited  for  the  day  on  which  Ed- 
ward and  his  bride  were  to  be  welcomed  at  Allingham. 

It  was  on  a  chill,  gloomy  evening,  when  the  fog  that  had 
hung  over  every  object  during  the  day  was  turning  into  a  driz- 
zling rain,  while  the  moaning  wind  among  the  leafless  trees, 
and  the  thick  bank  ofleaden  clouds,  partially  gilded  by  the  set- 
ting sun,  portended  a  stormy  night,  that  Edith  paced  the  gravel 
walk  from  the  house  to  the  carriage  drive  through  the  Park 
anxiously  listening  to  every  sound,  and  regardless  of  the  weath- 
er, from  the  excitement  of  her  feelings  ;  for  now  that  she  was 
about  to  meet  her  brother,  she  remembered  her  offences  against 
him,  and  doubted  whether  he  could  so  entirely  have  excused 
her  neglect  of  his  wishes  as  he  appeared  to  have  done.  Mrs. 
Courtenay  and  Jane  had  thrown  themselves,  one  upon  the  sofa, 
the  other  into  a  large  arm-chair  wheeled  close  to  the  fire,  and 
were  contriving  to  banish  the  weariness  of  delay  by  occasional 
complaints  of  the  season  and  the  state  of  the  roads  ;  to  which 
Jane  added  a  few  remarks  upon  Edward's  want  of  punctuality, 
that  were  by  no  means  responded  to  by  her  mother.  Even 
these  topics  were  however  at  last  exhausted ;  and,  in  default  of 
conversation,  Jane  closed  her  eyes,  merely  as  she  said  because 
the  fire-light  was  painful,  and,  in  a  short  time,  Edward  and 
Laura,  and  all  outward  circumstances,  were  forgotten.  Edith, 
too,  was  tired  of  her  solitary  walk,  and  began  to  be  sensible  that 
a  November  mist  might  as  well  be  avoided.  She  resolved  upon 
taking  one  more  turn,  and  then  attending  to  her  mother's  re- 
quest, sent  about  ten  minutes  before,  that  she  would  on  no  ac- 
count stay  out  any  longer.  The  resolution  was  scarcely  made, 
when  the  distant  sound  of  bells  reached  her  ear.  It  was  a  joy- 
ous peal  from  the  old  village  church,  yet  something  of  a  sad- 
dened under-tone  seemed  blended  with  it,  as  the  wailing  au- 
tumnal wind  bore  it  towards  her,  now  loudly  and  merrily,  and 
again  so  faintly  as  nearly  to  be  inaudible.  In  Edith's  melan- 
choly mood,  she  could  almost  have  fancied  it  a  token  of  the 
consequences  that  would  follow  upon  her  brother's  marriage  ; 
an  event  regarded  by  all  but  herself  with  unmixed  satisfaction. 
But  the  certainty  that  Edward  was  arrived,  put  a  stop  to  any 
longer  revery  ;  and  sho  had  oidy  time  to  give  her  mother  the 
information,  when  the  carriage  was  heard  approaching  the  house 
The  next  minute  Edward  was  in  the  hall,  receiving  his  mother's 
blessing,  and  presenting  to  her  his  young  and  beautiful  wile. 

"  She  is  your  youngest  child,  my  dearest  mother,"  he  whis- 
kered, ''and  you  will  love  her  very  dearly  for  my  sake." 

Laura  withdrew  her  arm  from  her  husband,  and  advanced  to 
receive  Mrs.  Courtenay's  kiss. 

"For   your  sake,  now,"  she  said,  as  she    looked  in  Edward's 


54  GERTRUDE. 


face  with  a  sweet,  bright  smile  ;  "  for  my  own,  I  trust,  soon." 
And  then,  turning  to  Jane  and  Edith,  she  added,  "May  I  not  be 
introduced  to  your  sisters  ?" 

Edith's  warm  affections  were  in  a  moment  roused.  The 
tone  and  manner  were  so  simple  and  winning,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  retain  any  feeling  of  coldness  :  and  as  her  eye  rest- 
ed upon  the  slight,  fairy-like  form,  and  childish  but  exquisitely 
lovely  face  before  her,  all  Edward's  offences  were  forgotten. 
His  love  was  accounted  for,  and  his  extravagance  seemed  but 
the  natural  homage  paid  to  the  captivating  grace  of  the  object 
of  his  choice.  Laura  indeed  appeared  born  to  receive  and  en- 
joy all  that  wealth  and  affection  could  lavish  upon  her,  and  even 
the  most  foreboding  mind  could  hardly  have  associated  any  idea 
but  that  of  happiness  with  her  sparkling  hazel  eyes,  laughing 
mouth,  and  brilliant  complexion.  At  the  first  glance,  while  she 
was  standing  enveloped  in  shawls  and  furs,  Edith  was  fascina- 
ted with  her  beauty;  and  when,  on  entering  the  drawing-room, 
she  carelessly  threw  oft"  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  showed  the 
delicately  moulded  little  head,  and  long  fair  neck,  which  suited 
so  well  with  the  general  contour  of  her  features,  Edith  felt  that 
she  had  never  looked  upon  any  thing  so  lovely.  Edward  said 
but  little;  he  was  watching  with  intense  pleasure  the  effect  of 
his  wife's  appearance  and  manner ;  and  Edith,  though  she 
noticed  his  silence,  was  more  at  her  ease  than  she  expected  to 
have  been,  for  his  greeting  had  been  cordial  and  affectionate. 
The  delight  of  the  moment  had  made  him  forget  any  causes  of 
annoyance,  if  he  felt  them  to  exist.  Mrs.  Courtenay,  afraid  lest 
Laura  should  be  suffering  from  cold  or  fatigue,  soon  began  to 
urge  upon  her,  what  in  a  similar  situation  she  would  have 
thought  absolutely  necessary  for  herself, — a  speedy  retirement  to 
her  own  room. 

"  But,"  said  Laura,  in  the  clear,  joyous  tone  of  one  who  had 
never  known  care,  "  you  will  make  me  think  I  am  an  invalid, 
and  I  never  was  ill  in  my  life.  I  am  stronger  than  any  one.  I 
can  go  to  a  ball,  and  dance  all  night,  and  get  up  just  the  same 
the  next  morning;  and  when  we  were  in  town  in  the  spring,  1 
was  at  the  Opera  regularly  on  a  Saturday  night,  and  yet,  how- 
ever late  it  was  when  I  went  to  bed,  I  never  missed  being  in  time 
for  the  music  at  the  Roman  Catholic  chapel  on  Sunday  morning." 

Edith  looked  at  her  brother — she  thought  he  bit  his  lip,  and  a 
cloud  passed  over  his  face  ;  but  he  turned  away  ;  and  again,  with 
a  chilled,  blank  feeling,  she  gazed  upon  her  beauliful  sister-in-law. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  whose  notions  of 
right  were  more  shocked  by  the  idea  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
chapel,  than  by  the  dissipation,  and  almost  inevitable  profanation 
of  the  Sunday  ;  "  Edward  never  told  me  you  were  a  Roman 
Catholic." 


GERTRUDE.  55 


M  Oh,  no  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  laughing,  "  I  only  went  there 
tor  the  music.  In  the  country  we  always  go  to  church  once  a 
day  ;  but  in  town  there  are  so  many  engagements,  it  is  not  prac- 
ticable." 

"  Laura,"  said  her  husband — and  there  was  something  in  his 
tone  which  to  Edith's  ear  betokened  any  thing  but  satisfaction— 
"  you  had  better  go  to  your  room  now,  or  you  will  be  late  for 
dinner.  I  suppose  you  had  my  letter,"  he  added,  speaking  to 
his  mother  ;  "  we  were  not  able  to  stop  on  the  road,  so  I  thought 
a  late  dinner  would  be  the  wisest  arrangement." 

"  I  should  like  much  to  go  all  over  the  house  first,"  replied 
Laura.  "  You  promised  me  I  should,  and  I  have  been  dreaming 
about  it  all  the  way." 

"  It  is  too  late,  my  love  ;  you  will  see  nothing  to-night,  and  it 
will  be  a  pity  to  lessen  any  pleasure  you  might  have  to-morrow. 
I  should  just  like  you  though  to  come  with  me  into  the  servants' 
hall,  and  speak  to  the  housekeeper  and  the  other  people  about 
the  place.     I  suspect  they  are  all  waiting  there  to  see  you." 

"  It  is  too  late,  my  love,"  said  Laura,  with  an  arch  smile.  "  1 
don't  fancy  going  into  the  servants'  hall  to-night.  That  pleasure 
shall  be  deferred  till  to-morrow  too." 

"  But  if  I  wish  it,"  said  Edward. 

"  But  if  I  don't  wish  it,"  continued  Laura. 

"  You  would  not  vex  me,  I  am  sure,  my  love.  It  is  expected 
of  you." 

"  That  is  a  pity,"  said  Laura,  "  because  you  see  there  are 
such  things  as  false  expectations;  so  now  we  will  go  up  stairs." 
And  rising  from  her  seat,  she  playfully  put  her  arm  within  his  to 
lead  him  from  the  room.  Edith  again  glanced  at  her  brother, 
but  the  expression  of  dissatisfaction  had  passed  away. 

"  You  are  a  sadly  spoilt  child,"  he  said,  only  half-reproach- 
fully,  as  he  watched  his  wife's  graceful  motions,  "  but  you  must 
have  your  own  way  I  suppose,  to-night,  at  least  as  regards  the 
servants."  And  Laura's  bewitching  smile  of  gratitude  com- 
pleted her  victory. 

"  It  is  not  difficult  to  see  who  will  rule  at  Al!in<rham,"  said 
Jane,  when  they  were  prone.  "  How  one  is  deceived  in  people  ! 
1  .should  have  thought  that  Edward,  of  all  persons,  was  the  least 
likely  to  be  governed  by  his  wife." 

"Hush!  my  dear  Jane,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "you 
speak  so  loudly.  It  is  all  very  natural  and  right:  you  know  they 
are  but  just  married  ;   and  she  is  very  young." 

"  Quite  a  child,"  said  Edith  ;  and  the  words  spoke  volumes  of 
disappointment. 

"  \nd  so  beautiful!"  continued  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  she  must 
have  been  a  most  lovely  baby." 

"  I  don't  see  that  she  is  much  more  now,"  observed    fane . 


5G  GERTRUDE. 

"  Charlotte  said  she  did  not  look  more  than  sixteen,  but  I  mus» 
say  I  was  not  entirely  prepared  for  such  infantine  ways." 

"  My  dear  Jane,  you  are  hard  judging.  Her  manners  suit 
her  exactly." 

"  That  is  just  the  objection  to  them.  They  suit  her  face  and 
figure  ;  but  they  do  not  suit  her  position.  A  playful  kitten  is  all 
very  well,  but  a  playful  bride  is  detestable.  What  do  you  say, 
Edith  ?" 

The  question  was  either  not  heard,  or  not  sufficiently  agree- 
able to  be  attended  to  ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  the  sound  of  the 
dinner-bell,  and  the  re-entrance  of  Edward  and  Laura,  put  an 
end  to  any  further  observations. 

"  You  are  silent,  my  dear  Edith,"  said  Edward,  with  a  slight 
effort  of  manner,  when  the  second  course  was  removed,  and  the 
first  esprit  of  the  conversation  had  subsided  ;  "  I  hope  you  are 
not  ill !" 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  never  was  better  ;"  and  silence  again  en- 
sued. 

"  You  have  been  overworking  yourself,  I  am  afraid.  I  have 
told  Laura  what  an  indefatigable  person  you  are,  and  that  she 
must  become  your  assistant." 

"  But  Laura  did  not  agree  to  the  proposal,"  said  his  wife, 
with  a  smile  which  always  had  the  etfect  of  neutralizing  any 
unpleasant  impression  her  words  might  occasion.  "  I  am  re- 
joiced that  there  is  some  one  to  take  the  Lady  Bountiful's  burden 
from  me  ;  it  was  always  my  horror  in  a  country  life  ;  besides, 
you  know,  it  would  be  interfering." 

"  She  is  only  joking,"  said  Edward,  observing  the  increased 
gloom  on  his  sister's  face.  "  You  will  know  her  better  by-and- 
by,  and  then  you  will  not  believe  any  thing  she  says  of  herself." 

"  No  one  was  ever  more  in  earnest,  Edward — I  don't  under- 
stand such  things,  and  never  shall — so  Edith  shall  be  lady  par- 
amount over  the  Allingham  charities  to  her  heart's  content." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Edith,  gravely  ;  "  but  I  have  enough  to 
do  at  Elsham." 

Laura  looked  at  her  sister-in-law  as  if  rather  astonished  at 
her  manner,  and  then  sunk  into  an  unusual  fit  of  abstraction. 
Edward  fidgeted,  and  began  to  be  uncomfortable.  He  had  that 
indescribable  feeling  of  something  being  uncongenial  in  the  ele- 
ments of  his  family  party,  which  perhaps  is  more  painful  than 
open  difference  of  opinion. 

"  You  have  told  me  nothing  about  Gertrude,"  he  said,  wil- 
ling to  change  the  conversation  ;'  What  account  does  she  give 
of  my  aunt ?" 

"  Very  much  as  usual,"  replied  Jane.  "  Mrs.  Heathfield  is 
always  complaining  :  some  people  are." 

"I  d-*  so  long  to  see  Gertrude,"  said  Laura.     "She  wrote 


GERTRUDE.  57 


me  such  a  kind  note  just  before  we  were  married,  as  kind  as 
any  I  had,  even  from  my  own  relations:  and  I  have  a  cousin 
who  knows  her,  and  says  she  is  not  at  all  like  people  in  gen- 
eral." 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  said  Jane.  "  She  has  eyes,  nose,  and 
mouth  like  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  eats,  drinks,  and  sleeps 
like  a  rational  being.  Then  she  is  neither  tall  nor  short,  not 
pretty  nor  ugly  ;  neither  a  genius  nor  a  dunce.  In  fact,  I  don't 
know  where  you  would  find  a  less  singular  person." 

"  But  her  mind,"  said  Edward.  "  We  are  scarcely  judges, 
indeed,  as  to  what  she  really  is  :  but  if  her  letters  and  general 
report  speak  truth,  she  is  singularly  good." 

'*  No,  no,  Edward,"  exclaimed  Laura;  "I  am  sure  she  is  not 
like  that.  Singularly  good  people  are  always  disagreeable. 
We  had  one  staying  with  us  once,  and  she  did  nothing  but  find 
fault  from  morning  till  night." 

"  It  is  a  melancholy  truth,  though,  with  regard  to  Gertrude," 
said  Edward,  smiling. 

"  Perfectly  impossible,"  continued  Laura ;  "  or  she  would 
have  sent  me  a  sermon  on  my  wedding  day,  with  a  little  book 
bound  in  silk  and  gold,  as  you  put  medicines  for  children  into 
sugar,  containing  'Advice  to  a  young  wife.'  I  had  three  given 
to  me  as  it  was,  from  three  singularly  good  old  aunts." 

"  They  meant  kindly,  my  love,"  said  Edward,  in  the  tone  in 
which  he  would  have  gently  reproved  a  forward  child. 

"  Good  intentions  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  laughing  ;  "  I  am  tired 
of  them.  I  had  a  fit  of  them  once,  and  they  made  me  uncom- 
fortable, so  I  gave  them  up." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Edith,  "  they  are  of  little  use  without  good 
actions." 

'■  That  is  exactly  what  I  feel;  and  as  I  am  too  humble  to  sup- 
pose I  shall  ever  perform  any  good  actions,  I  see  no  reason  to 
trouble  myself  with  the  intentions." 

"  You  will  frighten  my  mother  if  you  talk  so  wildly,  my  love," 
Baid  Edward.  "She  is  not  accustomed  to  such  rbudoinontade. 
Edith,  I  .suspect,  is  alarmed  already." 

•' Not  half  as  much  as  I  am,"  said  Laura.  "  Do  you  know, 
Edith,  Edward  has  dime  nothing  but  describe  your  virtues  all 
day." 

"  1  only  told  the  truth,"  replied  Edward,  in  his  natural  kind 
mannei .  "1  hope  she  will  not  think  it  too  much  trouble  to  teach 
In  r  own  good  ways  to  such  ;m  idle  child  as  you  are." 

Laura  drew  up  her  long  neck,  and  appeared  not  quite  pleased. 
Child  though  she  was,  she  was  fully  aware  of  her  position  as  a 
married  woman,  and  did  not  desire  tlie  dictation  of  an  unmarried 
sister-in-law  ;  and  Edward  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  he  per- 
ceived Ins  mistake. 


58  GERTRUDE. 


"  I  have  no  ways  to  teach,"  said  Edith  coldly,  her  pleasure 
in  the  praise  struggling  with  her  disappointment;  "and  if  I  had, 
I  should  have  rather  looked  forward,  Edward,  to  learning  some 
thing  from  your  wife." 

Edward  looked  ominously  grave.  He  felt  what  was  intended, 
and  he  also  felt  that  it  was  neither  the  place  nor  the  time  for  the 
ohservation  to  be  made. 

"  All  persons,  I  imagine,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  as  cold,  "  have 
some  points  in  which  they  may  be  useful  to  others.  Laura  lias 
been  accustomed  to  a  London  life  ;  you  to  a  country  one.  I  sup- 
pose you  may  mutually  benefit  each  other." 

"  We  will  make  a  compact  then,"  said  Laura,  gayly  ;  "  I  will 
teach  you  the  fashions,  and  you  shall  take  charge  of  my  duties." 

There  was  a  smile  from  all  but  Edith,  who  was  immoveably 
rigid  ;  and  Laura,  feeling  provoked,  proposed  an  adjournment  to 
the  drawing-room. 

Edith's  stiffness  relaxed  as  they  drew  round  the  fire,  and  she 
tried  to  find  a  subject  of  conversation.  "  Is  this  the  last  new 
reticule  1"  she  said,  taking  up  a  large  and  very  handsome  car- 
riage bag,  which  had  been  left  on  the  sofa. 

"  No,"  replied  Laura.  "  It  was  a  wedding  present ;  you  shall 
guess  from  whom." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  Jane  ;  "  no  one  else  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing." 

"  Because  no  one  else-is  so  much  in  the  habit  of  consulting 
other  persons'  comfort,"  observed  Edith. 

"  The  note  I  mentioned  was  sent  with  it,"  said  Laura  ;  "  and 
she  told  rne  she  preferred  work  to  ornaments,  because  it  was  the 
association  generally  which  made  them  valuable  ;  and  therefore 
she  would  rather  wait  till  she  could  hope  I  really  loved  her,  and 
in  the  mean  time  give  me  something  useful.  Just  see  how  nicely 
the  bag  is  fitted  up." 

"  Gertrude  has  a  great  idea  of  suitableness  in  presents,"  said 
Edith.  "  She  always  contrives  to  think  upon  the  very  thing  one 
wants,  even  if  it  is  a  mere  trifle." 

"  She  is  rich,"  remarked  Jane ;  "  and  can  afford  to  give 
presents." 

"Not  much  richer  than  we  are,  now,"  said  Edith.  "And 
besides,  she  seldom  does  give  what  people  call  handsome  pres- 
ents." 

"  Gertrude  must  be  the  hundred  and  first  wonder  of  the  world," 
baid  Laura.  "  I  shall  give  up  wishing  to  see  her.  I  never  met 
with  agreeable  perfection  yet." 

"  Her  perfections  are  not  dazzling  ones,"  said  Edith,  a  little 
mollified  by  the  appreciation  of  her  sister's  gift.  "  You  must 
know  her  intimately  before  you  find  out  her  superiority." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  observed  Laura.     "  Hidden  gocdnesi 


GERTRUL£.  59 


is  the  most  alarming  of  all.  One  goes  on  blundering,  and  ima- 
gining one  is  doing  and  saying  every  thing  that  is  right  ;  and, 
all  at  once,  some  unlucky  look  or  word  touches  the  vulnerable 
point,  and  a  whole  host  of  virtues  stand  up  in  battle  array,  and 
crush  one  before  one  is  at  all  prepared." 

"  Crush,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  was  just  settling 
herself  for  her  evening  doze;  "don't  talk  of  crushing — it  is  so 
cruel ;  put  it  out  of  the  window  carefully.  1  dare  say  it  will  re- 
cover." 

Laura  laughed  heartily  ;  but  it  was  not  the  Priory  fashion  to 
correct  Mrs.  Courtenay's  mistakes,  and  the  conversation  con- 
tinued. 

"  One  thing  I  really  give  Gertrude  credit  for,"  said  Jane, — 
"  consistency.  If  it  were  not  for  her,  I  should  really  think  some- 
times that  all  the  world  were  hypocrites.  They  talk  so  well  and 
act  so  badly." 

"  You  learn  to  think  them  so,  on  the  Continent,"  said  Laura, 
— "  at  the  Roman  Catholic  chapels.  There  can  be  no  sincerity 
in  all  ihe  bowing,  and  ringing  of  bells,  and  walking  about." 

"  Were  you  there  often  V  asked  Edith. 

"  No,  we  were  only  absent  three  weeks  ;  but  the  Sundays 
were  wet  and  dull,  and  I  persuaded  Edward  to  go,  just  for 
imusement." 

"  People  mijrht  say  the  same  as  you  do,  of  our  forms,"  ob- 
"served  Edith,  "*ifthey  did  not  understand  them." 

"  Oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Laura;  "there  is  meaning  in  what  we 
do,  but  the  Roman  Catholic  ceremonies  are  absurd.  What  is 
the  use  of  the  little  boys  and  the  tapers  !" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Edith ;  "  I  never  was  at  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic chapel." 

"  Never  !"  repeated  Laura  in  astonishment.  "  But  it  is  a  sight 
to  be  seen,  like  any  others  ;  and  then  the  music  is  exquisite." 

"  It  can  scarcely  be  right,  though,"  said  Edith,  "  to  make  any 
thing  solemn  a  matter  of  amusement.  We  should  be  shocked 
to  see  the  service  of  the  church  represented  in  the  theatre  ;  and 
I  can  fancy  good  Roman  Catholics  feeling  just  the  same  when 
their  worship  is  considered  a  mere  show." 

"  As  to  the  church  service  in  a  theatre,"  said  Laura,  "  I  am 
no  judge,  for  I  never  saw  it;  but  I  dare  say  I  should  not  think  it 
wrong,  if  no  one  else  did.  You  know  in  Masaniello  they  kneel 
duwn  on  the  stage,  and  chant,  and  very  beautiful  it  is.  It  makes 
one  feel  very  religious  at  the  time — so  it  must  be  good." 

"  Rut  do  you  think  the  people  who  sing  are  feeling  the  same  V 
asked  Edith. 

"Oli,  no.  They  are  mere  actors — of  course  all  that  they 
ca<-e  for  is  singing  in  tune  and  putting  themselves  in  proper  atti- 
tudes." 


60  GERTRUDE. 


"  But  the  words,"  said  Edith,  looking  extremely  grave, — 
'  only  think  of  the  words  they  use." 

"  They  don't  mean  them,"  replied  Laura.  "  Greek  and  Latin, 
or  mere  nonsense,  would  do  just  as  well." 

'•And  the  third  Commandment!"  said  Edith. 

Laura  seemed  a  little  startled.  "  We  are  running  away  from 
our  first  subject,"  she  said.  "  The  chanting  in  Masaniello  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Rcrr.an  Catholic  chapels.  The  people 
are  not  acting  there." 

"  You  said  they  were,"  replied  Edith.  "  You  called  them 
hypocrites." 

"  I  did  not  mean  exactly  that  they  were  ;  only  that  they 
seemed  so." 

"  And  when  you  go,"  continued  Edith,  "  you  of  course  put 
on  an  appearance  of  reverence,  and  yet  all  the  time  you  are 
thinking  of  the  service  as  an  amusement.  Who  is  acting 
then  ?" 

There  was  a  short  pause,  broken  by  Laura.  "  You  are 
hard  upon  me,  Edith,"  she  said  :  "  I  dare  say  you  think  me 
dreadfully  wicked  ;  but  I  was  bred  up  with  my  notions,  and  you 
were  bred  up  with  yours  ;  so  we  shall  never  agree  ;  but  I  am 
sure  you  are  a  great  deal  belter  than  I  am." 

Edith  felt  this  was  true  ;  and  a  certain  consciousness  of  man- 
ner unfortunately  showed  it, — unfortunately,  for  it  served  to 
efface  the  impression  her  words  had  made.  Laura  would  have 
been  touched  by  humility  and  gentleness,  in  one  whom  she  can- 
didly acknowledged  her  superior  ;  but  Edith's  smile  of  acqui- 
escence irritated  her.  A  little  reflection  indeed  brought  to  Edith's 
mind,  follies,  and  worse  than  follies,  both  of  thought  and  action, 
which  sunk  her  infinitely  low  in  her  own  esteem  ;  but  it  was 
then  loo  late  to  be  humble.  The  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  her  brother,  and  the  preparation  for  tea,  and 
the  opportunity  was  lost.  So  it  is  through  life  :  we  yield  to  the 
impulse  of  the  moment,  and  utter  a  hasty  word,  or  are  silent 
when  we  should  have  spoken,  or  suffer  a  proud  look  to  betray 
our  evil  feelings  ;  and  then  turn  and  repent,  and  bewail  the  in- 
firmity of  our  nature  ;  and  the  sorrow,  when  it  is  the  sorrow  of  a 
Christian,  is  seen  and  accepted,  but  the  impression  of  our  weak- 
ness is  stamped  upon  another's  heart,  and  fcs  effect  we  may  well 
dread  to  calculate.  On  this  occasion  it  was  plainly  visible.  Lau- 
ra's constraint  for  the  short  remainder  of  the  evening  was  the 
more  perceptible,  from  the  contrast  it  afforded  to  her  general 
openness  of  manner ;  and  when  Edith,  on  her  return  home, 
thought  over  in  solitude  the  occurrences  of  the  evening,  the  re- 
membrance of  her  sister's  worldly  notions  and  of  Edward's  in- 
consistency, was  less  painful  than  the  consciousness  of  her  own 
self-conceit  and  coldness  of  manner.     And  Edith  was  sincere  iv 


GERTRUDE.  fil 


her  self-accusation  ;  but  the  fault  lay  too  deep  to  be  easily  cor- 
rected. Never-failing  humility  is  the  last  acquired  virtue  jf  a 
Chiistian. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


"  You  are  grave,  my  love,"  said  Edward,  as  he  stood  by  the 
breakfast-room  window  on  the  following  morning,  pointing  out 
the  different  objects  of  interest  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  Not  exactly  grave,"  replied  Laura,  keeping  her  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  the  Priory,  which  Edward  had  been  minutely  de- 
scribing— "  I  was  onlv  thinking." 

"Thinking  of  what']" 

"  Oh  !  nothing, — it  is  very  pretty.  That  bow-window,  you 
say,  is  the  library." 

"  ;  Nothing'  will  not  do  for  me,"  said  Edward,  as  he  drew 
her  fondly  towards  him,  and  forced  her  to  look  in  his  face.  "  Re- 
member our  agreement,  Laura;  we  were  to  have  no  conceal- 
ments of  any  kind, — whether  in  grief  or  joy,  it  was  to  be  all  the 
same." 

"  So  it  shall  be,  when  there  is  any  thing  to  be  told  ;  but  it 
would  be  absurd  to  confess  every  foolish  thought  that  passes 
through  one's  mind,  and  makes  one  look  grave  for  the  moment." 

"  Not  absurd,  if  I  wish  it,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  so  tell  me  what 
was  it  ?     Were  you  thinking  of  home  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Laura,  earnestly  ;  "  why  should  I  ? 
You  are  my  home  now." 

"  Then  you  are  disappointed  in  the  place  :  it  is  not  as  pretty 
as  you  expected." 

•■  Yes,  it  is  a  great  deal  prettier,  larger,  and  handsomer,  and 
the  view  more  extensive.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  was, 
Edward,  that  came  over  me — it  was  a  feeling  more  than  a 
thought." 

"  A  feeling  about  the  Priory,"  said  Edward. 

Laura  hesitated.  "I  can  hardly  understand  why  I  should 
have  it  ; — your  mother  is  so  kind  ;  and  Jane,  too  ;  and  Edith" — • 

■•  I-  what]" 

'•  So — so  good,  I  think  ;  so  inufli  better  than  I  am." 

"Time  will  prove  that."  said  Edward,  as  he  imprinted  a  kiss 
on  the  fair,  open  forehead  of  his  young  wife.  "  You  are  gocd 
in  my  eyes.     Is  not  that  sufficient  !" 

"  JJut  1   am  not  good  in  Edith's,"  continued  Laura — "  I  can 


t32  GERTRUDE. 


see  I  am  not — and  I  am  frightened — I  shall  never  feel  at  ease 
where  she  is." 

"Never  is   a  very  long  day,"  said  Edward,  smiling.     "It  i? 
only  Edith's  manner  at  first — she  is  so  warm-hearted  and  sensi 
ble  :  you  must  be  fond  of  her  by  and  by." 

"  That  is  not  the  question  ;  she  will  never  be  fond  of  me. 
She  thinks  1  am  not  fitted  for  you.  I  am  sure  she  does  ;  and 
you  will  find  I  was  right  about  her  not  being  my  bridesmaid. 
She  did  not  choose  to  be,  and  that  was  her  only  motive  for  de- 
clining." 

"  Rather  severe,"  said  Edward.  "  You  know  I  was  vexed 
myself;  but  we  agreed  that  we  would  not  begin  our  home  life 
with  being  annoyed.  Her  time  is  very  much  occupied,  and  I 
really  think  that  nothing  but  necessity  would  have  induced  her 
to  refuse.  You  must  remember,  too,  that  although  we  are  all  in 
all  to  each  other,  we  cannot  cut  ourselves  off  from  our  relations." 

"Who  would  wish  it?"  said  Laura.  "  I  am  sure  I  only  want 
to  be  one  of  the  family  in  every  thing  ;  but  then  I  must  be  met 
halfway." 

"And  so  you  will  be.  In  a  week's  time,  Edith  and  you  will 
be  the  dearest  friends  imaginable." 

Laura  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can  never  get  on  with  any  person  I  am  afraid  of;  and  you 
know  I  am  shy,  though  I  do  talk  fast." 

"  You  were  shy  of  the  servants  last  night,"  said  Edward  ; 
"  but  you  must  conquer  the  feeling  to-day.  I  want  you  to  know 
them  all — to  take  the  management  of  affairs  into  your  own 
hands  ;  and  remember  we  are  to  be  very  economical." 

"Say  it  once  more,"  exclaimed  Laura,  laughing;  "I  have 
not  heard  it  quite  often  enough  yet.  Economy  is  an  admirable 
thing;  I  like  it  extremely;  it  means  a  handsome  house  and  a 
fine  park,  and  splendid  furniture,  and  six  thousand  a  year.  This 
room  is  a  specimen  of  your  economy ;  it  suits  my  taste  exactly." 

"  I  am  really  in  earnest,  Laura,"  replied  her  husband,  more 
gravely  than  usual.  "  It  has  been  a  great  delight  to  procure 
every  thing  that  might  make  your  new  home  pleasant ;  but  there 
is  not  the  less  occasion  for  care." 

"Of  course  yeu  are  right,"  said  Laura;  "men  always  are. 
Papa  recommends  economy  too,  and  with  more  reason  :  I  know 
his  property  is  encumbered." 

The  color  mounted  to  Edward's  cheek.  "  I  talked  to  your 
father,"  he  said,  "  and  he  perfectly  agreed  with  me  ;  and  you 
must  take  advice  upon  our  judgment.  Ladies  do  not  understand 
the  details  of  business." 

"  No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Laura ;  "  I  never  wish  to  hear  the 
v/ord.  Just  tell  me  how  much  money  I  may  spend,  and  I  shall 
need  nothing  more  " 


GERTRUDE.  6'.i 


"  Suppose  1  were  to  sav  that  we  ought  not  to  exceed  two 
thousand  a  year  ;"  and  Edward  looked  earnestly  in  his  wife's 
face. 

"  Then  I  should  say  you  were  speaking  nonsense.     With  a 
fortune  of  six  thousand,  why  should  we  confine  ourselves  to  two? 
You  must  be  growing  miserly  in  your  old  age,  Edward,  or  has 
the   burden  of  a  wife   brought  with  it  an   over-burden  of  pru 
dence  ?" 

"  It  has  brought  a  burden  of  anxiety,  lest  my  best  earthly 
treasure  should  ever  have  a  wish  ungratified,"  said  Edward, 
affectionately. 

"  Then  I  may  have  my  own  way,"  continued  Laura,  "  and  we 
will  hear  nothing  more  about  economy  :  it  is  such  a  very  vulgar 
virtue." 

Edward  felt  ashamed  of  his  own  weakness,  but  had  no  strength 
to  overcome  it.  He  could  not  bear  to  cloud  the  brightness  of 
Laura's  prospects  at  the  very  opening  of  their  married  life,  and 
contented  himself  with  the  knowledge  that  he  had  acted  an  hon- 
orable part  by  acquainting  Mr.  Howard  with  the  state  of  his 
property  before  he  made  his  proposal. 

"'  You  must  learn  to  believe  me  serious,  my  dear  Laura,"  he 
replied.  "  All  comforts  and  luxuries  that  are  suitable  to  your 
position  in  society  I  trust  you  will  never  want,  but  any  thing  be- 
yond we  must  both  be  contented  without." 

"  Thank  you,"  exclaimed  Laura ;  "  I  am  perfectly  satisfied. 
My  position  in  society  is  a  very  desirable  one, — the  mistress  of 
Allingham,  and  the  wife  of  one  of  the  first  persons  in  the  county." 

"  Not  exactly  one  of  the  first ;  I  could  name  six  or  seven  at 
least  whose  fortune  is  more  than  double  my  own." 

"It  is  not  fortune  merely,"  continued  Laura  ;  "your  family 
and  connections  must  be  considered  ;  and,  besides,  you  know  you 
will  soon  be  a  member  of  Parliament.     Papa  told  me  that." 

"  It  was  more  than  I  said,"  replied  Edward,  hastily.  "  I  ac- 
knowledged that  I  might  almost  certainly  be  a  county  member 
it  1  wished  it,  because  the  seat  has  been  held  by  the  Allingham 
Courtenays  for  years  and  years  ;  but  1  did  not  at  all  mean  to  im- 
ply  that  anything  would  induce  me  to  stand." 

••  But  I  should  so  like  you  to  be  in  Parliament,"  said  Laura; 
"  you  would  speak  so  well.  Papa  said  he  was  sure  you  would 
distinguish  yourself." 

'•  Silly  child,"  replied  Edward,  in  a  tone  of  half  earnestness  ; 
"  you  rousl  not  talk  of  things  you  don't  understand.  Your  lather 
was  fond  of  me,  and  saw  every  thing  I  did  or  said  in  a  favorable 
point  of  view;  but  if  I  had  the  united  talents  of  all  the  first  men 
of  the  age,  I  have  not  wealth  to  Bupport  a  contested  election.  It 
would  be  ruin." 

La  na  laughed  gayiy  :  "  Th(  that  there  is  some  point 


(54  GERTRUDE. 


or  other  upon  which  every  person  is  insane,  and  I  do  think  this 
of  economy  is  yours,  Edward.  If  you  practised  it  I  should  be 
frightened,  and  think  you  required  a  keeper  :  but  happily  it  all 
begins  and  ends  in  words." 

Unknowingly,  Laura  had  touched  upon  a  discordant  note.  Ed- 
ward could  scarcely  have  told  why  the  conversation  was  disa- 
greeable ;  but  he  felt  it  to  be  so,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
and  took  up  a  book. 

"  Not  now,"  said  Laura,  playfully,  as  she  caught  the  volume 
from  his  hands.  "  We  are  to  go  over  the  house  together,  and  1 
am  to  look  demure,  and  make  speeches  to  Mrs.  Somebody  the 
housekeeper,  and  Mr.  Somebody,  the  house-stewaid,  and  beg 
them  to  keep  all  the  other  somebodies  in  order.  You  know  I, 
who  am  nobody,  cannot  possibly  talk  to  somebody,  unless  you  are 
near  to  help  me." 

"  You,  who  are  everybody,  you  mean,"  said  Edward — "  the 
pervading  spirit  of  the  establishment." 

"  No,  no  !"  exclaimed  Laura.  "  I  have  warned  you  often  be- 
fore that  I  cannot  be  any  such  thin?.  You  tell  me  that  you  have 
no  intention  of  making  laws  for  the  nation,  and  I  tell  you  that  I 
have  no  intention  of  making  laws  for  the  household.  They  must 
take  care  of  themselves." 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  Edward.  "  Some  persons,  you  know, 
are  born  to  greatness,  some  achieve  greatness,  and  some  have 
greatness  thrust  upon  them.  Now,  as  I  conceive  that  a  woman's 
greatness  consists  in  the  proper  management  of  her  husband's 
home,  I  must  insist  upon  thrusting  it  on  you  ;  and,  as  a  prelimi- 
nary step,  we  will  go  to  the  servants'  hall." 

Laura  made  no  further  objection  ;  and  the  remainder  of  the 
morning  was  spent  in  listening  to  domestic  details,  which  she 
acknowledged  could  never  be  irksome  while  Edward  was  at  her 
side,  and  in  wandering  from  room  to  room,  forming  plans  for  the 
future,  and  talking  of  the  friends  who  were  to  be  invited  to  fill 
the  house  as  soon  as  they  were  comfortably  settled.  Something 
also  was  said  of  the  poor,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  the  housekeeper  was 
strictly  enjoined  to  have  soup  made  three  times  a  week,  and 
allow  nothing  like  waste  among  the  servants  :  an  injunction  re- 
ceived with  such  low  courtesies  and  fair  promises  that  Laura  con- 
sidered nothing  more  was  required  to  be  done. 

"  I  have  kept  this  for  the  last,"  said  Edward,  as  he  threw  open 
the  folding  doors  that  opened  from  the  antechamber  into  Lai.ra's 
morning  room.  "  This  is  especially  for  yourself,  dearest — a 
place  of  refuge  when  you  are  tired  of  me  or  of  your  company. 
You  see  it  is  not  finished  yet,  but  I  intend  it  to  be  perfect  of  its 
kind." 

Laura's  delighted  countenance  spoke  her  full  approbat'on.,  and 
she   ran   eagerly  to  the  window   to  look  at  the  view,  but  started 


GERTRUDE.  65 


bask  immediately.     "  Oh  !  Edward,  that  cottage — that  frightful 
;ottage  ! — it  is  precisely  in  the  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean]"  asked  Edward  ;  "  there  is  no  cottage 
in  the  front." 

••  No,  but  at  the  side.  Just  come  where  I  am.  and  you  will 
see  ;  it  hides  the  prettiest  part  of  the  village,  and  it  is  so  detest- 
ably ugly — you  will  have  to  take  it  down." 

Edward  looked  considerably  annoyed.  "  I  see  how  it  is,"  he 
said;  "I  cut  down  one  or  two  trees  there  just  before  I  went 
away,  and  it  made  very  little  difference  from  below,  but  this  new 
window  has  the  full  benefit.  It  was  stupid  of  me  not  to  think 
about  it  when  I  sent  my  orders.  I  am  sure  we  might  have  man- 
aged the  room  differently." 

"  But  it  will  be  easy  enough  now,"  said  Laura:  "  you  have  only 
to  order  it  to  be  taken  down.  The  poor  people  will  find  plenty 
of  other  cottages  to  go  to." 

"  If  it  were  a  common  laborer's  cottage,  it  would  not  signify," 
replied  Edward  ;  "  but  unfortunately,  it  is  inhabited  by  my  old 
nurse,  who  is  fidgety  and  cross,  and  has  met  with  many  misfor- 
tunes ;  and  when  she  went  into  it,  I  promised  she  should  never 
be  turned  out  again." 

"  Shall  I  quote  you  a  very,  very  old  proverb  about  promises  ?" 
said  Laura,  as  she  looked  archly  in  his  face.  '•  Don't  be  so  sol- 
emn, Edward  ;  I  am  not  really  advising  you  to  break  your  word  ; 
but  there  are  ways  and  means." 

'"  Fire,  arsenic,  and  prussic  acid,  for  instance,"  said  Edward. 

"  Oh  fie  !  I  never  thought  of  any  thing  half  so  wicked  :  what 
I  meant  were  little,  gentle,  insinuating  ways." 

'•  .Such  as  the  cuckoo  uses  when  it  turns  its  neighbor  out  of  its 
nest,  I  suppose,"  continued  Edward.  "  You  must  explain  your- 
self more  clearly.'' 

"  Not  yet,  because  I  don't  exactly  know  what  I  mean  myself, 
but  I  am  sure  the  thing  is  to  be  done,  and  well  and  graciously 
too  ;  and  I  shall  never  rest  until  it  is." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  better  mode  of  satisfying  yourself]"  said 
Edward.  "  Make  up  your  mind  to  bear  it  patiently,  and  not 
think  about  it.  We  should  never  forgive  ourselves  for  making 
poor  old  Martha  uncomfortable  for  the  few  remaining  years  of 
her  life." 

"  But  she  should  not  be  uncomfortable,"  persisted  Laura. 
"We  could  easily  manage  for  her  to  have  a  cottage  quite  as 
good,  and  a  great  deal  prettier.  Besides,  Edward,  it  is  a  ques- 
tion between  your  wife  and  vour  nurse — which  do  you  love  the 
best  !" 

'•  \\  hich  have  I  the  greatest  confidence  in  ]    you  should  ask. 
f  think  that  my  inu-.se  is  old,  and    ignorant,  and    fretful  ;  but 
think  that  mi  wile   is  sensible,  and  kind-hearted,  and  self-den} 


66  GERTRUDE. 


ing,  and  therefore  I  expect  far  more  from  one  than  I  do  from  the 
other." 

"  Very  pretty,"  said  Laura,  "  but  not  very  true.  Your  wife 
never  was  self-denying  in  her  life.  It  was  not  the  Oakhampton 
fashion." 

"  But  it  will  be  the  Allingham  fashion — and  this  shall  be  the 
first  lesson." 

Laura  looked  disappointed  ;  and  there  was  a  little  petulancy 
in  her  manner  as  she  moved  from  the  window,  and  walked  about 
the  room  examining  the  furniture. 

"  It  is  hopeless  to  think  of  planting  it  out,"  she  said,  as  she  re- 
turned to  the  window  ;  "  it  would  be  years  before  any  trees  would 
grow  high  enough  to  hide  it." 

"  We  might  cover  it  with  evergreens,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  it 
will  not  he  objectionable  then.  And  it  might  be  much  worse  ;  it 
is  old  and  thatched." 

"  But  the  time — just  consider  the  amazing  length  of  time  be- 
fore that  hideous  red  wall  can  possibly  be  covered  ;  and  every 
person  who  comes  into  the  room  will  see  it  and  talk  about  it ; 
and  I  shall  have  to  repeat  the  story  over  and  over  again  ;  and 
after  all  no  one  will  understand  why  it  is  not  taken  away  ;  for 
there  is  not  one  person  in  a  hundred  who  would  care  like  you  for 
an  old  nurse." 

"  Dear  Laura  !"  said  Edward,  "  you  cannot  possibly  be  as 
vexed  as  1  am.  I  had  set  my  heart  upon  your  having  every 
thing  to  please  you  ;  and  if  you  only  knew  how  I  had  planned  the 
room  for  weeks  and  weeks,  I  think  you  would  feel  that  it  was  not 
my  fault." 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Laura,  regaining,  in  an  instant,  her  natural 
sweetness  of  temper,  when  she  saw  that  her  husband  was  annoy- 
ed ;  "I  know  you  could  never  do  any  thing  but  what  was  kind 
and  thoughtful.  You  will  try,  though  ?"  and  she  laid  her  hand 
npon  his  arm,  and  looked  at  him  beseechingly. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  1  dearest !  you  know  it  is  impossi- 
ble ;"  but  the  tone  was  less  decided,  and  Laura  saw  her  influ- 
ence. 

"  Not  quite  impossible  ; — only  say  you  will  think  about  it." 

"  If  it  could  do  any  good,  1  would  ;  but  where  is  the  use  of 
thinking  when  it  is  out  of  one's  power  to  act  ?" 

"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  it,  and  you  may  find  some  way  of 
managing." 

Edward  turned  again  to  the  window,  and  the  cottage  was  more 
unsightly  than  before.  He  did  not  say  that  he  would  think ; 
but  he  stood  for  some  minutes  in  silence  :  and  then,  gazing  in- 
tently on  the  lovely  face  at  his  side,  proposed  that  they  should  go 
into  the  pleasure  ground. 


GERTRUDE.  fil 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  dressing-bell  at  the  Priory  was  heard  at  the  usual  houi 
on  that  same  evening ;  and  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Jane  retired, 
to  prepare  for  dinner;  but  Edith  still  lingered  by  the  drawing- 
room  fire,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  dreary  scene  without,  but  her 
thoughts  wandering  to  other  subjects.  She  had  seen  nothing 
of  her  brother  and  sister  during  the  day,  yet  they  had  scarcely 
been  absent  from  her  mind  for  a  single  hour.  They  were  now 
expected  to  dine,  and  she  was  to  be  ready  to  receive  them ; 
and  if  they  had  been  strangers,  the  task  would  have  been  easy  ; 
but  the  recollection  of  the  preceding  evening's  conversation  was 
too  vivid  to  allow  of  her  feeling  any  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of 
a  family  party.  She  was  uncomfortable  in  Edward's  presence, 
from  the  doubt  whether  she  had  behaved  kindly  ;  and  Laura 
had  scarcely  uttered  a  sentence  without  paining  her.  To  have 
seen  her  in  society,  and  watched  her  graceful  manners,  and  the 
varying  expression  of  her  features,  and  listened  to  her  clear  sil- 
very laugh,  would  have  been  agreeable  and  interesting  ;  but  to 
hear  her  converse,  and  be  reminded  at  every  moment  of  Ed- 
ward's weakness  in  suffering  himself  to  be  captivated  by  mere 
external  attraction,  was  a  trial  of  no  ordinary  nature.  Such,  at 
least,  it  seemed  to  Edith  ;  and  as  she  recalled  the  different  sub- 
jects introduced,  and  the  opinions  Laura  had  expressed,  her 
vexation  almost  vented  itself  in  tears.  Instead  of  a  friend  and 
companion,  she  had  found  only  an  elegant,  worldly-minded  girl, 
with  some  natural  cleverness,  and  a  certain  simplicity  and 
warmth  of  manner,  pleasing  on  a  first  acquaintance,  but  pos- 
sessing no  real  charm  apart  from  more  valuable  qualities. 
Whatever  her  disposition  might  be,  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
been  spoilt  by  education;  ami  the  only  hope  for  Edward's  hap- 
piness was  in  his  remaining  blind  to  the  follies  (f  his  wife.  In 
a  certain  degree,  this  judgment  was  correct.  1  aura  was  as  yet 
nothing  more  than  an  elegant,  amiable,  clever  girl  ;  but  it  is 
haul  to  say  that  the  faults  of  eighteen  are  incurable;  and  what- 
ever had  been  the  defects  of  her  education,  the  influence  oilier 
husband  and  his  family  might  be  all-powerful  for  good,  if  only 
\t  were  exerted  aright.  In  this,  however,  lay  the  difficulty. 
Edward's  affection,  and  inherent  weakness  of  character,  caused 


6S  GERTRUDE. 

him  to  be  led,  rather  than  to  lead.  His  mother,  and  Jane,  and 
Charlotte,  possessed  scarcely  higher  principles  than  his  wife  ; 
Gertrude  was  absent;  and  Edith,  the  only  person  who  could 
really  be  of  use,  was  unconscious  of  the  duty  devolving  upon 
her.  Even  now,  as  she  pondered  upon  the  deficiencies  of  Lau- 
ra's character,  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  be  the  in- 
strument of  effecting  a  change.  Her  own  duties  seemed  evi- 
dent ;  she  was  to  pursue  her  usual  path,  attend  to  the  schools, 
and  visit  in  the  parish,  and  work  for  the  poor,  and  Laura  was  to 
occupy  herself  as  she  chose.  Theie  was  no  probability  that 
their  tastes  would  harmonize  :  and,  therefore,  the  more  agreea- 
ble line  of  conduct  would  be,  not  to  interfere,  but  to  wait  pa- 
tiently, in  the  hope  that  Edward's  example  might  be  of  service 
in  raising  her  tone  of  mind.  And  as  the  resolution  was  formed, 
Edith  gathered  up  her  work,  and,  startled  by  the  sound  of  car- 
riage wheels,  went  to  dress  for  dinner.  The  second  bell  had 
rung  before  her  toilet  was  completed,  and  she  felt  glad  to  be 
spared  the  irksomeness  of  the  quarter  of  an  hour's  formal  con- 
versation in  the  drawing-room,  since  formal  she  had  determined 
it  must  he,  while  there  were  so  many  topics  on  which  there 
could  be  no  sympathy.  But  Laura's  merry  laugh,  and  Ed- 
ward's smile,  as  she  seated  herself  at  the  table,  and  apologized 
for  being  late,  gave  no  symptoms  of  formality  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Edith's  restraint  was  subdued  by  the  recital  of  some 
travelling  adventures,  and  the  grace  and  ease  with  which  Laura 
took  off  the  French  manner,  and  mimicked  the  Normandy 
patois. 

"  It  must  be  a  delightful  thing  to  have  travelled,"  said  Jane, 
when  they  left  the  dining  room.  "It  saves  such  an  infinity  o' 
trouble  in  finding  subjects  of  conversation  ;  and  really,  with  so 
many  acquaintances,  talking  is  the  labor  of  one's  life." 

"  Not  with  you,  Jane,  I  am  sure,"  said  Edith  ;  "  you  seldon 
trouble  yourself  to  entertain  any  one." 

"  Not  with  you,  Edith,  for  you  are  never  in  the  way  whe; 
any  one  calls.     My  whole  morning  is  often  wasted  by  visiters." 

"It  is  not  of  so  much  consequence  to  you,  as  it  is  to  me,"  re 
plied  Edith,  "  for  you  have  not  as  much  to  do." 

"  There  I  must  beg  to  differ,"  said  Jane,  pettishly  ;  "  my  oc 
cupations  are  as  numerous,  although  they  are  different  frorr 
yours." 

"  But  you  cannot  mean  to  say  they  are  equally  important,"  said 
Edith. 

"  Indeed  I  do.  The  cultivation  of  one's  own  mind  is  as  im- 
portant as  the  cultivation  of  other  persons'." 

"  Is  this  the  best  mode  of  cultivating  one's  mind  1"  asked 
Edith,  ironically;  and  she  took  up  the  last  volume  of  an  inferioi 
novel 


GERTRUDE.  6(J 


Jane  made  no  reply,  but  her  annoyance  was  evident  in  her 
countenance  ;  and  Laura,  who  had  never  been  accustomed  to 
anv  thing  like  discordance  between  sisters,  felt  extremely  un- 
comfortable, and  endeavored  if  possible  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion. Edith  would  indeed  have  been  pained  if  she  had  known 
the  impression  these  few  sentences  produced.  From  long  habit, 
she  was  not  aware  how  perceptible  the  disagreement  between 
herself  and  her  sisters  was  to  a  stranger.  She  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  speak  openly — sometimes  from  an  irritation  of  feeling, 
sometimes  from  a  real,  though  mistaken,  idea  of  doine  good  ;  and 
as  the  difference  of  opinion  seldom  went  beyond  a  few  passing 
expressions,  T>r  a  satirical  look,  she  had  not  supposed  that  it 
would  be  noticed.  Neither  was  she  in  general  sensible  of  the 
extent  of  the  wrong  she  was  committing.  The  error  was  so  tri- 
fling in  appearance,  as  frequently  to  be  unthought  of ;  but  it  is 
the  constant  repetition  of  a  slight  fault,  which  effectually  destroys 
the  happiness  of  domestic  life  ;  and  whether  it  be  indolence,  pro- 
crastination, carelessness,  hastiness  of  temper,  or  any  of  the  nu- 
merous other  minor  defects  of  character,  it  must  always,  in  the 
end,  mar  the  influence  of  the  highest  virtues.  Edith  was  sincere, 
and  generous,  and  self-denying ;  earnest  in  religion,  and  un- 
wearied in  exertion  ;  and  beyond  the  circle  of  her  own  family, 
was  considered  a  pattern  of  all  that  is  amiable  in  woman  ;  but, 
in  her  home,  she  was  at  times  irritable  and  forgetful,  and  pur- 
sued her  notions  of  duty  without  sufficient  consideration  for  the 
prejudices  of  others  ;  and  her  sisters  acknowledged  her  goodness, 
but  accused  her  of  inconsistency,  and  felt  little  inclined  to  follow 
an  example  which  produced  so  doubtful  a  result  upon  the  general 
happiness. 

"  JIow  often  do  you  hear  from  Gertrude  ?"  asked  Laura,  think- 
ing the  subject  a  safe  one. 

"  Once  a  week,  generally,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  when  her 
aunt  is  ill  she  writes  more  frequently,  or  if  she  has  any  thing  to 
send.  What  was  there  in  the  packet  that  came  this  morning  ?  I 
forget." 

"A  new  duct,"  replied  Edith.  "She  fancied  it  would  suit 
you,  Laura,  as  Edward  said  you  sang  a  preat  deal." 

"I  used  to  do  so  at  Oakhampton,  for  1  had  almost  always  a 
cousin  or  some  one  to  practise  with  ;  but  I  never  sing  any  thing 
alone." 

'•  You  must  prarli.se  a  great  deal  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mis. 
Courtenay;  "you  have  such  a  beautiful  instrument,  and  eithei 
Edith,  or  Jane,  or  Charlotte,  when  she  is  at  home,  will  be  de- 
lighted to  Bing  with  you." 

J -aura  looked  at  her  sisters,  expecting  the  proposal  to  be  re- 
ceived with  pleasure,  but  she  was  disappointed. 


70 


GERTRUDE. 


"  I  sing  very  little,"  said  Jane,  "  only  when  no  one  is  at  hand 
to  take  my  part.     It  is  such  a  great  exertion." 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  exertion,"  observed  Edith  ;  "  music  ip 
worth  any  trouble,  but  it  takes  up  so  much  time." 

"  But  what  is  time  given  us  for,"  asked  Laura,  "  except  to  en- 
joy ourselves  ?  I  mean  a  lady's  time.  Gentlemen  and  poor  peo- 
ple are  different." 

"  You  shall  come  and  stay  here,"  said  Jane,  "  and  then  yoa 
will  discover.  Edith  intends  giving  lectures  soon  upon  the  use. 
ful  expenditure  of  time,  in  contradistinction  to  the  ornamental. " 

"  What  do  you  consider  useful,  Edith  ?"  asked  Laura. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Jane,  before  her  sister  had  time  to 
reply.  "  First  and  foremost,  teaching  reading,  writing,  and  arith- 
metic, to  the  dirtiest  children  in  the  parish— the  dirtier  the  better ; 
secondly,  walking  over  ploughed  fields  and  muddy  lanes,  to  see 
poor  creatures  in  infectious  fevers,  and  returning  home,  to  the 
serious  alarm  of  your  friends,  so  ill  that  you  can  neither  speak  nor 
eat ;  and  thirdly,  spending  every  wet  day  in  making  flannel  pet- 
ticoats and  smock  frocks,  and  reading  sermons." 

"  That  is  an  exaggeration,  Jane,"  said  Edith  ;  "  but  even  if  it 
were  not,  no  one  would  deny  that  it  would  be  a  more  profitable 
way  of  employing  one's  self  than  in  music  and  drawing,  and  worst- 
ed work." 

"  And  do  you  mean  that  you  would  never  attend  to  such  things'!" 
asked  Laura. 

"  Oh  yes,  occasionally,  if  I  literally  had  nothing  else  to  do ; 
but  that  is  never  the  case  with  me." 

Laura  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  "  I  cannot  understand 
it,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  Edward  will  never  expect  me  to  lead  such 
a  life." 

"  What  life  ?"  inquired  a  voice  behind  her.  "  I  will  answer 
at  once  that  it  can  be  none  that  you  would  dislike." 

"I  don't  know  that,  Edward;  you  have  always  told  me  that 
Edith  was  your  pattern  of  goodness  ;  and  she  "thinks  nothing 
right  but  teaching  little  children,  and  making  poor  people's 
clothes." 

"And  to  a  certain  point  I  agree  with  her.  In  the  primitive 
days,  women  occupied  themselves  in  necessary  domestic  duties, 
and  works  of  charity  ;  now,  they  fritter  away  their  lives  in  draw- 
ing flowers,  and  working  cross-stitch." 

"  But  these  are  not  the  primitive  days,"  said  Laura  ;  "  we  are 
living  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  you  may  as  well  tell  us  that 
we  ought  to  dwell  in  huts,  and  live  upon  acorns.  We  cannot 
possibly  follow  the  fashions  of  centuries  ago." 

"  It  is  a  sad  state  of  things,"  replied  Edward,  as  he  seated 
himself  in  a  luxurious  easy  chair  by  the  fireside.     "  The  whols 


GERTRUDE.  7j 


condition  of  society  is  corrupted ;  people  seem  to  have  forgotten 
the  very  meaning  of  self-denial,  and  start  back  when  it  is  men- 
tioned, as  if  its  name  only  were  a  spell,  to  conjure  up  the  errors 
of  popery." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  drawing  flowers  and  working 
cross-stitch  !"  said  Laura. 

"  I  was  merely  thinking  of  the  lives  of  the  sisters  of  charity, 
and  comparing  them  with  our  modern  efforts  of  benevolence.  I 
do  most  sincerely  believe,  that  the  nearest  human  approach  to 
an  angel's  life  upon  earth  has  been  made  amongst  them." 

"  Very  possible,"  said  Laura ;  "  but  again,  will  you  tell  me 
what  that  has  to  do  with  flowers  and  cross-stitch  ?" 

Edward  laughed.  "  I  want  to  hear  you  sing,  my  dear  ;  I  am 
sure  your  voice  and  Edith's  will  suit  admirably  ;  just  try  my  fa- 
vorite duet." 

"  I  will  make  you  answer  my  question,  by-and-by,"  said 
Laura  ;  "  nothing  is  so  unsatisfactory  to  me  as  hearing  people 
talk  so  much  of  what  used  to  be.  What  can  it  signify  to  us 
whether  the  sisters  of  charity  were  angels  or  not,  if  it  is  out  of 
our  power  to  be  like  them'?" 

"1  never  said  that,"  replied  Edward;  "what  I  contend  for  is, 
that  all  ought  to  be  like  them.  If  there  were  any  right  feeling 
amongst  us,  we  should  see  institutions  of  a  similar  kind  intro- 
duced immediately." 

"  But  as  there  is  not  any  right  feeling,  we  may  follow  our  own 
pleasure,"  said  Laura  ;  "  I  am  glad  at  last  to  have  arrived  at  a 
conclusion.     So  now,  Edith,  we  will  go  and  sing." 

Edward  only  smiled.  As  usual,  he  had  theorized  well ;  and 
with  this  he  was  contented,  and  spent  the  next  hour  in  lounging 
in  a  comfortable  posture,  listening  to  the  sweet  voices  of  his  wife 
and  his  sister,  and  forming  Utopian  schemes  of  possible  perfec- 
tion, which  only  served  to  impress  upon  his  mind  more  fully  the 
present  evils  of  society,  and  the  ignorance  and  folly  of  the  world. 

"  To-morrow  will  be  my  last  day  of  peace,"  observed  Laura, 
when  the  carriage  was  announced,  and  the  evening  closed. 
"  On  .Monday,  I  suppose,  we  shall  be  overwhelmed  with 
visiter-."' 

"I  depend  upon  you,  Edith,  to  help  Laura  out  of  her  difficul- 
ties," said  Edward,  turnil  j,r  to  his  sister;  "you  know  every  one 
so  well,  that  it  will  ie  a  real  charity  to  introduce  them,  and  find 
subjects  of  conversation." 

"There  can  be  no  need  cf  that,"  replied  Edith;  "yout 
foreign  tour  will  be  sufficient." 

"  J5ut  that  will  involve  so  much  talking  of  one's  self,"  said 
Laura;  " and  besides,  it  is  tiresome  to  repeat  the  Bame  things 
over  and  over  again  to  twenty  different  pi  and  if  they  hap- 

pen to  compare  notes,  it  becomi  a  absurd." 


72  GERTRUDE. 


"You  will  be  at  Allingham,  of  course,"  said  Edward. 

Edith  hesitated.  "I  would  if  I  could  see  the  use  of  it,  and  if 
Monday  were  not  such  a  particularly  busy  day." 

"  But  is  it  impossible  to  obtain  one  morning's  holiday  1  I 
should  imagine  even  a  secretary  of  state  could  do  that/' 

"  A  secretary  of  state  is  not  half  such  an  important  person  as 
Edith,"  said  Jane.     "  I  wonder  you  can  compare  them." 

"  You  may  laugh  if  you  will,  Jane,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  but  it  is 
very  difficult  to  find  a  free  day." 

Laura  turned  to  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "I  am  sure,"  she  ssid, 
"you  would  take  compassion  upon  me  if  you  could,  but  I  was 
afraid  it  would  be  a  tax  upon  you,  and  therefore  I  did  not  think 
of  mentioning  it." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  I  were  but  twenty  years  younger,  I 
would  do  it  directly  ;  but  either  Jane  or  Edith  will  be  delighted." 

"  We  did  not  reckon  upon  you,  Jane,"  said  Edward,  "  know- 
ing you  are  so  uncertain  in  your  health." 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  I  do  not  feel  equal 
to  support  such  a  day's  labor." 

"  It  will  not  be  at  all  easy  to  manage,"  said  Edith,  carelessly  ; 
"but  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

Laura  looked  and  felt  hurt.  "Oh!  pray  don't  put  yourself 
out  of  your  way  for  me ;  I  should  be  quite  distressed  if  you  were 
to  do  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  Edith  will  like  it.  Noth- 
ing is  so  pleasant  as  to  sit  at  home  and  see  one's  friends,  and 
have  a  pleasant  chat,  when  one  is  strong  enough." 

Edith  did  not  echo  the  sentiment ;  but  merely  repeated  that 
"  she  would  see  what  could  be  done,  only  she  could  not  promise  ;" 
and  Laura,  after  again  begging  her  not  to  inconvenience  herself, 
wished  them  "  good  night,"  and  returned  to  the  park. 


CHAPTER  X. 


"I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this  introduction  with  so 
much  pleasure,"  said  Miss  Forester,  as  she  glided  into  the  draw- 
ing-room at  Allingham,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Dacre.  Lam  a 
slightly  bowed,  and  acknowledging  the  compliment,  made  the 
usual  observations  on  the  state  of  the  weather. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  gloomy  without ;  but  with  so  much  comfort 
within,  one  easily  forgets  that  the  day  is  stormy.  You  don't 
t enture  out,  I  suppose,  unless  it  is  fine  1" 


GERTRUDE.  73 


"  I  have  not  done  so  yet ;  but  Mr.  Courtenay  laughs  at  my 
fears,  and  savs  that  people  who  brave  the  weather  seldom  take 
cold." 

"That  is  so  exactly  a  gentleman's  speech.  They  never  give 
ladies  credit  for  any  thing  but  rude  health  ;  and  1  suppose  Mr. 
Courtenay  is  inclined  to  think  lightly  on  the  subject,  from  the 
example  of  his  sister  Edith  ;  she  goes  out  at  all  times." 

"  A  very  good  practice,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Admirable.  I  have  often  envied  Miss  Courtenay's  resolu- 
tion, and  lamented  that  my  indifferent  health  prevents  my  follow- 
ing the  example." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  interrupted  only  by  Mr.  Dacre's 
dry  cough.  "  Have  you  been  much  in  this  neighborhood  be- 
fore 1"  he  said,  turning  to  Laura. 

"  Xo,  never ;  and  I  am  longing  for  the  spring ;  they  tell  me 
that  the  scenery  is  beautiful." 

"  Oh  lovely,  perfectly  lovely,"  echoed  Miss  Forester  ;  "  but  it 
may  not  please  you  as  it  does  us,  for  you  will  find  the  most 
charming  spots  around  your  own  door.  We  consider  Allingham 
the  gem  of  the  country." 

Laura's  good  taste  revolted  against  the  flatter)-,  and  she  took 
no  notice  of  it. 

"  There  is  a  pleasure  in  novelty,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre,  "  which 
to  some  minds  counterbalances  every  thing." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  to  mine,"  replied  Laura.  "  From 
having  lived  all  my  life  in  one  home,  I  cannot  fancy  any  place 
delightful  without  some  association  attached  to  it." 

"  But  it  need  not  necessarily  be  a  long  one,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 
"  There  are  feelings  which  can  do  the  work  of  years,  and  we 
may  hope,"  he  added  kindly  and  earnestly,  "  that  your  first  asso- 
ciations with  Allingham  will  invest  it  with  a  charm  beyond  all 
other  places." 

Laura  felt  that  the  wish  was  sincere,  and  her  interest  in  her 
visiters  was  increased.  "  I  am  fortunate  in  one  respect,"  she 
said,  "that  my  expectations  were  not  too  highly  raised;  Mr. 
Courtenay  was  especially  guarded  in  his  descriptions." 

"That  is  so  like  him,"  softly  murmured  Miss  Forester;  "  he 
La  BO  very  thoughtful  upon  all  subjects." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Laura,  smiling  :  "  he  ought  to  be  here  to 
thank  you  himself." 

"  Mr.  Courtenay  is  coming  towards  the  house  now,  is  he  not  ?' 
asked  Mr.  Dacre,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Miss  Forester  appeared  surprised.  "I  was  not  aware  that 
you  were  acquainted,  my  dear  sir." 

"  We  have  met  once  before,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  hut  it   is  not 
very  probable  that  Mr.  Courtenay  will  recollect  me."     Edward 
4 


74  GERTRUDE. 


however  did  recollect,  and  as  he  shook  hands,  made  an  allusion 
to  their  former  acquaintance  ;  yet  there  was  a  slight  confusion  in 
his  manner,  and  an  attentive  observer  might  have  discovered, 
that  the  circumstances  recalled  by  the  sight  of  Mr.  Dacre  were 
not  perfectly  agreeable. 

The  awkwardness  however  soon  wore  off,  and  the  conversa- 
tion flowed  rapidly  and  agreeably.  The  continent,  its  scenery 
and  customs,  and  tho  comparisons  with  English  habits,  were  dis- 
cussed for  at  least  the  third  time  that  morning ;  but  Mr.  Dacre's 
strong  sense,  and  Edward's  quickness  of  intellect,  gave  a  supe- 
rior tone  to  all  that  was  said  ;  and  Laura  listened  with  delight, 
and  felt  annoyed  when  the  entrance  of  a  servant  with  a  note  and 
a  parcel  interrupted  their  remarks. 

"  These  are  a  few  lines  from  Edith,"  she  s&.d,  apologizing 
for  reading  them  :  "  she  has  sent  me  the  duet  we  sang  the  other 
night,  Edward,  but  she  cannot  come  to  us  to-day  ;  there  is  a 
school  meeting  in  the  way."  Edward  looked  very  much  disap- 
pointed. 

"Miss  Courtenay  is  so  much  occupied,"  said  Miss  Forester, 
"  that  she  has  but  little  time  at  her  own  disposal,  I  imagine." 

Edward  was  still  and  grave  and  silent,  and  Laura  felt  uncom- 
fortable. "Do  yon  know  this  duet!"  she  said,  taking  up  the 
music,  and  rejoiced  at  having  found  something  to  say. 

"  I  have  seen  it,  but  I  have  only  tried  the  second  ;  indeed,  I 
never  sing  any  thing  else — my  voice  is  worth  so  little." 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  learn  it  properly,  Edward,"  said 
Laura,  "  if  Edith  is  so  much  engaged.  It  requires  to  be  prac- 
tised together." 

"  She  will  not  always  be  busy,  my  dear  ;  you  must  have  pa- 
tience." 

"  It  does  require  patience,  certainly,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "  to 
wait  for  music  ;  one  is  always  so  anxious  to  hear  it  in  perfection 
immediately — at  least,  if  I  may  judge  for  myself.  It  is  quite  a 
passion  with  me." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  before,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre  :  "  you 
have  not  opened  the  piano  since  I  have  been  at  the  Grange." 

"  Oh!  that  was  because  I  knew  you  to  be  such  a  judge,  and 
I  was  shy." 

"  I  can  scarcely  understand  how  you  could  have  known  it.  I 
have  never  mentioned  music,  and  really  can  only  tell  what  I  like 
or  dislike." 

"  But  that  is  every  thing  with  a  correct  taste  ;  it  is  far  beyond 
mere  scientific  knowledge." 

"  Experience  must  decide  whether  a  taste  is  correct  or  not," 
continued  Mr.  Dacre  :  "  you  will  be  a  better  judge  of  mine  when 
you  have  had  a  specimen  of  it.  I  like  '  Auld  lang  syne,'  much 
better  than  '  Tu  che  accendi.'" 


GERTRUDE.  75 

" '  Auld  lang  syne'  is  sweetly  simple  and  touching,  certainly  ; 
I  have  known  some  people  quite  overcome  by  it." 

"I  never  was  overcome,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  if  you  mean 
crying." 

Laura  laughed.  "  At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "  you  would  not 
confess  it.  I  should  like  to  try  the  experiment  upon  you  some 
day." 

A  melancholy  expression  passed  over  Mr.  Dacre's  face.  He 
did  not  accept  the  challenge.  Laura  took  up  the  duet,  and  look- 
ed at  it  disconsolately.  "  It  is  very  tantalizing,"  she  said,  "and 
I  never  sing  solos." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  just  like  me,"  observed  Miss  Forester  ;  "  per- 
haps— I  hope  I  am  not  intruding,  but  it  would  give  me  so  much 
pleasure  if  sometimes  I  could  make  myself  useful,  as  a  second, 
when  the  Miss  Courtenays  are  engaged." 

If  Laura  had  watched  her  husband's  countenance,  she  would 
have  discovered  that  the  proposal  did  not  meet  his  wishes  ;  but, 
bred  up  in  indulgence,  and  having  never  been  taught  to  consult 
any  will  but  her  own,  she  seldom  considered  it  worth  while  to 
inquire  what  was  thought  of  her  actions  ;  and  Edward's  fondness 
had  hitherto  caused  him  to  see  every  thing  she  either  did  or  said 
in  so  favorable  a  point  of  view,  that  it  seemed  impossible  he 
could  object  to  any  thing  which  suited  her  inclinations.  Miss 
Forester's  humble  offer  of  making  herself  useful,  was  therefore 
accepted  with  pleasure  ;  and  not  without  a  feeling  of  satisfaction 
in  Laura's  mind  from  the  consideration  that  there  would  be  in 
consequence  less  claim  upon  Edith's  time.  Since  she  had  proved 
herself  either  so  unwilling,  or  so  unable,  to  sacrifice  her  usual 
occupations,  it  would  be  equally  irksome  to  make  a  second  re- 
quest, or  provoking  to  be  compelled  to  relinquish  a  favorite 
amusement.  Without  hesitation,  therefore,  Laura  fixed  an  early 
day  for  a  musical  morning  ;  and  Miss  Forester  and  her  uncle 
took  their  leave. 

"  I  wish  you  had  consulted  me  before  you  made  that  arrange- 
ment, my  dear  Laura,"  said  Edward,  when  they  were  left  alone  ; 
'•  could  you  not  see  by  my  manner,  that  I  disapproved  of  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  might  have  seen  it  if  I  had  watched  ;  but  for  such 
a  trifle  it  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  ask  advice.  It  must  be 
entirely  a  matter  of  indifference  to  you." 

'•  The  choice  of  your  society,  my  love,  can  never  be  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  me." 

"  That  is  absurd,  Edward.  Singing  a  duet  with  Miss  Fores- 
ter cannot  be  called  choosing  society." 

"  It  is  (he  first  step  to  it.  Music  encourages  intimacy  more 
than  any  tluiiLr." 

"  But  supposing  I  am  intimate  with  Miss  Forester,  why  should 
you  object  !" 


76  GERTRUDE. 


"  Ask  yourself,  my  dear  ;  the  question  will  be  easily  answered 
by  your  own  good  sense.  What  is  the  impression  you  have  re- 
ceived from  Miss  Forester's  manners  and  conversation  V 

"  Oh  !  that  she  is  a  very  good-natured  sort  of  a  person  ;  rather 
too  soft  and  flattering  to  be  perfectly  lady-like  ;  but  very  well. 
More  agreeable,  at  any  rate,  than  half  the  people  one  meets 
with." 

"  And  these  are  sterling  good  qualities  upon  which  it  is  safe  to 
build  a  friendship  ?" 

"  You  are  so  extreme  in  your  conclusions,  Edward.  If  we  are 
to  wait  till  we  are  to  meet  with  perfection  before  we  form  acquaint- 
ances, we  may  as  well  become  hermits.  We  must  take  the  world 
as  we  find  it.  Besides,  if  I  don't  practise  with  Miss  Forester,  I 
shall  lose  my  music  entirely." 

"You  forget  my  sisters,"  said  Edward. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  don't ; — but  what  can  I  do  "?  Charlotte,  takes 
the  same  part  that  I  do,  Jane  is  an  invalid,  and  Edith  is 
busy." 

"  It  is  very  provoking  of  Edith,"  exclaimed  Edward  hastily. 
"  But  she  would  manage  it,  I  am  sure,  if  you  were  to  ask  it  as  a 
favor." 

Laura  drew  up  her  long  white  neck  and  looked  very  proud 
"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  asking  favors  of  any  one  ;  voluntary 
offers  I  am  most  grateful  for,  but  a  forced  obligation  is  oppres- 
sive." 

"  But  Edith  cannot  know  how  much  pleasure  she  could  give 
by  a  little  arrangement  of  time." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  she  does.  You  were  not  in  the  room  when  we 
were  talking  about  it  the  other  night.  Your  mother  made  the 
offer  for  her,  but  she  did  not  second  it;  so  I  must  entreat,  Ed- 
ward, that  the  subject  is  not  mentioned  to  her  again." 

"  I  have  a  peculiar  aversion  to  Miss  Forester,"  said  Edward, 
speaking  his  thoughts  aloud  ;  "  almost  a  dread,  she  is  so  utterly 
insincere." 

"  Well !"  said  Laura,  with  a  disappointed  air  ;  "  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  vex  you  about  it.  I  will  give  up  the  notion,  though  I 
can't  in  the  least  see  why  you  should  object  to  my  making  her 
useful." 

"  Because  usefulness  between  persons  in  the  same  rank  of 
life  implies  familiarity.  If  we  allow  people  to  put  themselves 
out  of  the  way  for  us,  we  must  do  something  for  them  in  re- 
turn. And  this  is  all  very  well  where  there  is  real  regard  ;  but, 
if  not,  there  must  be  a  pretence  in  the  matter.  Common  civili- 
ty will  not  satisfy  a  person  who  has  been  doing  an  uncommon 
kindness." 

"  You  would  do  away  with  all  the  forms  of  society,"  said 
Laura,  "  if  you  would  allow  nothing  but  what  is  true.     How 


GERTRUDE.  77 


many  people  are  really  dear  to  us,  whom  we  call  dear  when  we 
write  to  them  ?" 

"  Very  few,  probably  ;  but  then  every  one  understands  that 
dear,  in  a  note,  only  means  that  you  have  a  kindly  feeling  towards 
them." 

"  That  you  would  not  murder  them,"  said  Laura,  laughing. 
"  Well  !  perhaps  you  are  riaht  there.  But  about  Miss  Forester 
— I  only  want  her  to  be  dear  in  that  sense." 

"Then  treat  her  as  you  do  the  rest  of  the  world — be  civil  to 
her,  but  nothing  more.  If  you  once  allow  her  to  advance  one 
step  towards  you,  you  must  advance  one  step  towards  her  ;  and 
if  you  don't,  She  will  be  offended  ;  and  if  you  do,  you  will  be  un- 
true.    There  is  no  alternative,  that  I  can  see." 

"  Poor  Miss  Forester  !"  said  Laura  ;  "  there  is  little  hope 
for  her.     She  will  never  be  admitted  at  Allinsjham." 

"  Not  on  the  footing  on  which  your  practising  mornings  would 
place  her,  certainly." 

"  Then  good-by  to  my  singing,"  said  Laura,  casting  a  wist- 
ful oflance  at  the  splendid  piano. 

"That  is  exaggerating  the  case,  is  it  not?"  said  Edward. 
"  You  will  soon  learn  to  sing  by  yourself;  and  my  sisters,  as  I 
said  before,  will  practise  with  you  whenever  they  can." 

"  Which  will  be  never,"  exclaimed  Laura,  petulantly.  "It  is 
clear,  Edward,  you  do  not  care  to  hear  me  sing." 

"  Oh  !  Laura,  how  unkind  !  If  you  only  knew  the  delight  it 
gives  me." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  I"  she  said,  and  a  tear  glistened  in  her 
bright  eye.  Edward  was  much  pained  ;  it  was  the  first  tear  he 
had  seen  since  their  marriage. 

•'  I  will  not  tell  you  how  truly  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  replied  ; 
"  You  would  think  that  I  exaggerated.  Yet  you  would  not  for 
that  reason  have  me  consent  to  what  is  wrong." 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  consent  to  any  thing  for  a  continuance. 
I  only  wish  to  try  for  two  or  three  times,  and  then  you  shall  see 
how  well  I  can  manage  to  be  quite  civil  without  being  hypocrit- 
ical." Edward  hesitated  ;  and  Laura's  sweet  smile  showed  that 
her  hopes  were  raised.  "  We  will  meet  half  way,"  she  said  , 
"you  shall  let  me  follow  my  own  «ishes  for  the  next  fortnight 
or  three  weeks,  and  then  we  will  have  another  discussion." 

Still  Edward  hesitated.  He  knew  that  by  yielding  then,  he 
was  probably  giving  up  the  point  entirely  ;  but  the  compromise 
was  all  that  wns  required  at  the  moment;  and  too  conscientious 
completely  to  sacrilice  his  judgment,  too  weak  to  say  No,  he 
'aughingly  observed,  that  "  All  the  world  would  say  that  lie  was 
ovuroed  by  his  will-  ;"  and  Laura  was  triumphant. 


GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

Miss  Forester's  proposal,  as  might  easily  be  conjectured, 
was  not  entirely  the  result  of  disinterested  kindness.  It  signified 
nothing  to  her  whether  the  young  bride  were  pleased  or  dis- 
pleased, whether  she  sang  or  whether  she  were  silent ;  but  to  be 
placed  on  an  intimate  footing  at  Allingham,  was  a  subject  of 
considerable  importance.  It  involved  amusement  for  her  idle 
hours,  of  which  she  had  very  many  ;  the  enjoyment  of  luxuries 
without  expense  ;  and,  most  probably,  influence  over  one  who 
was  likely  to  become  the  foremost  in  the  society  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. Even  in  her  childhood,  Miss  Forester  had  indulged 
in  no  dreams  of  ambition,  for  the  success  of  which  she  was  to 
depend  on  her  own  exertions.  Her  mind  was  of  too  low  a 
stamp  for  the  formation  of  those  bright  visions  of  fame,  or  rank, 
or  magnificence,  which,  however  delusive  in  themselves,  imply 
a  craving  for  enjoyments  the  world  cannot  give,  and  are  often 
accompanied  with  an  energy  which  may,  when  rightly  directed, 
enable  us  to  obtain  them.  She  was  not  indeed  insensible  to  their 
charms,  but  she  sought  them  through  the  efforts  of  others,  rather 
than  through  her  own  ;  and  since  the  splendor  of  neither  tal- 
ent, rank,  nor  riches  had  been  granted  her  in  a  degree  equal  to 
her  wishes,  she  compensated  for  the  deficiency  by  living  as  much 
as  possible  in  the  reflected  light  of  those  who  were  more  fortu- 
nate than  herself.  She  was  mistaken,  however,  in  supposing 
that  Laura  was  entirely  blinded  by  her  flatteries,  or  willing  to 
put  faith  in  her  sincerity.  The  real  foundation  of  Laura's  cha- 
racter was  truth;  and  however  the  false,  cold  maxims  of  her 
home  had  corrupted  her  natural  disposition,  there  still  remained 
enough  of  simplicity  and  earnestness  to  render  her  easily  alive  to 
Miss°Forester's  artificial  character.  But  beyond  this  she  did  not 
go.  Knowledge  and  action  had  been  so  long  disconnected  in 
her  mind,  that  the  idea  of  checking  an  agreeable  intimacy  on 
account  of  its  insincere  foundation  never  suggested  itself;  for 
right  was  not  in  the  list  of  Laura's  motives.  Of  what  was 
pleasant  she  thought  constantly  ;  of  what  was  necessary,  she 
was  forced  to  think  occasionally  ;  but  what  was  right  she  seldom 
took  the  trouble  to  consider,  except  when  Edward  endeavored 
to  imbue  her  with  some  of  his  own  principles ;  and  then  she 
listened,  and  smiled,  and  declared  he  was  too  good  for  the  world 


GERTRUDE.  79 


— better  than  she  ever  imagined  any  one  could  be — so  much  bet- 
ter than  herself  that  he  quite  frightened  her ;  and  Edward  praised 
her  ingenuousness,  and  delighted  in  her  humility  ;  and  so  the 
subject  was  dropped,  and  the  good  impression  vanished  as  quickly 
as  it  had  been  made. 

For  some  time,  the  resolution  of  holding  Miss  Forester  at  a 
distance,  and  only  allowing  her  to  be  useful  when  the  occasion 
offered,  was  carefully  kept :  and  Laura  frequently  appealed  to 
her  husband  to  acknowledge  how  well  she  had  estimated  her 
powers,  and  how  exactly  she  meted  out  the  due  measure  if 
civility.  But,  as  Edward  had  foreseen,  a  change,  gradual,  yet 
not  the  less'  perceptible,  was  after  a  time  produced  in  the  inti- 
macy between  Allingham  and  the  Grange.  Miss  Forester  was 
so  extremely  good-natured,  so  easily  pleased,  so  full  of  anecdotes 
of  Elsham  and  its  vicinity,  that  Laura's  suspicions  of  her  sin- 
cerity faded  by  degrees  away.  No  exertion  was  needed  for  her 
entertainment,  for  she  usually  came  stored  with  some  family  or 
village  history,  "  which  must  on  no  account  be  repeated,  which 
she  would  not  indeed  have  mentioned  to  any  one  except  her  dear 
Mrs.  Courtenay,  on  whose  judgment  and  secrecy  she  placed 
such  implicit  reliance  ;"  and  Laura,  who,  owing  to  Edward's 
engagements,  passed  many  a  solitary  morning,  was  glad  to 
escape  from  the  irksomeness  of  worsted  work,  or  the  stupidity 
of  a  novel,  or  the  fatigue  of  writing  letters,  to  the  excitement, 
false  and  petty  though  it  was,  of  Miss  Forester's  tittle-tattle. 
The  frequency  of  the  visits  at  length,  however,  became  so  ap- 
parent, that  Edward  was  obliged  to  enter  his  protest  against 
them  ;  but  he  was  met  by  the  same  pleading  looks,  the  same  ear- 
nest assurances  that  the  acquaintance  should  never  go  beyond 
the  bounds  of  ordinary  civility,  together  with  complaints  of  soli- 
tary hours,  and  comparisons  between  Miss  Forester's  attentions 
and  Edith's  neglect. 

"  It  is  useless  to  make  excuses  for  her,  Edward,"  exclaimed 
Laura,  at  the  termination  of  one  of  their  frequent  discussions 
upon  her  conduct.  "  I  know  all  that  you  would  say,  and  I  be- 
lieve it  to  be  true.  Edith  is  a  most  superior  person  ;  but  it  is 
that  very  superiority  which  prevents  us  from  assimilating,  and 
makes  her  slum  me." 

"  My  dear  Laura,  you  are  mistaken  entirely  ;  Edith  docs  not 
shun  you  ;  but  sin:  is  so  engaged  that  she  has  very  little  time  to 
bestow  upon  you." 

'•  Whatever  the  reason  may  be,  the  effects  are  the  same. 
We  never  meet,  or  at  least,  only  just  in  the  evening  as  a  matt  r 
of  propriety.  As  far  as  the  Priory  society  goes,  I  might  as  well 
be  living  at  Nova  Scotia  ;  and  it  really  is  hard,  Edward,  to  be 
debarred  from  the  company  of  the  only  person  who  is  willing  \u 
take  compassion  npon  my  solitary  mornings." 


JO  GERTRUDE. 


"  But  such  a  person!  I  should  have  thought  that  the  loneli- 
ness of  a  lew  hours  would  have  been  paradise  compared  to  the 
prattle  of  so  very  ordinary  a  person  as  Miss  Forester." 

"  Perhaps  it  might  be  to  a  Latin  and  Greek  scholar  like  your- 
self, or  a  saint  like  Edith  ;  but  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other ;  and  you  know,  Edward,  if  you  shut  up  a  poor  captive  in 
a  celi,  he  will  create  companionship  for  himself,  even  though  it 
may  be  with  flies  and  spiders." 

"  Rather  a  spacious  cell,  though,"  said  Edward,  as  he  looked 
round  upon  the  handsome  drawing-room,  "  and  containing  con- 
siderable stores  of  amusement ;  but  I  am  surprised,  Laura,  at 
your  disli'  -  of  being  alone  ;  I  had  your  morning  room  fitted  up 
purposel    ->ecause  I  thought  you  would  enjoy  retirement." 

"I  sL  mid  be  the  first  of  my  family  who  did,  then,"  replied 
Laura,  laughing,  "  and  as  to  the  morning  room,  it  is  perfect  in 
its  way, — every  one  says  so, — but  I  cannot  sit  there  till  the  cot- 
tage is  gone.  I  feel  like  Aladdin  in  his  fairy  palace,  only  I  have 
a  roc's  egg  too  much,  instead  of  one  too  little." 

"  I  have  thought  about  it  often,  my  love,  since  you  first  men- 
tioned it ;  but,  indeed,  I  see  no  remedy  except  patience." 

"  Which  is  the  last  remedy  I  am  inclined  to  use.  The  wish 
is  scarcely  ever  out  of  my  mind." 

"  L'ut  I  am  sure,  dearest,  you  will  not  indulge  it  at  the  expensn 
of  another's  comfort." 

"  How  can  1  help  it  ?     The  thoughts  come  whether  I  will  o 
not." 

"  They  may  come,  certainly,  against  your  inclination  ;  but  it 
is  at  your  own  option  whether  they  shall  remain." 

"  Oh,  no,  Edward  ;  I  never  can  believe  that.  Actions  may 
be  ordered,  but  not  thoughts." 

"  My  dear  Laura,"  exclaimed  Edward,  becoming  graver  than 
usual,  "  you  forget  :  if  we  were  left  to  ourselves,  you  might  be 
right ;  but  you  know  there  is  a  higher  strength  than  our  own, 
which  will  always  be  given  us  if  we  ask  for  it ;  and  remember, 
in  the  Bible,  evil  thoughts  are  coupled  with  the  greatest 
crimes." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  they  seem  sent  to  us." 

"  So  they  may  often  be  ;  but  as  we  have  it  in  our  own  power 
to  cherish  or  reject  them,  we  are  responsible  for  them." 

"  I  never  shall  understand,"  said  Laura.  "  Thoughts  and 
feelings  have  been  my  puzzle  from  my  childhood." 

"  And,  unhappily,  they  must  be  to  the  end  of  your  life,"  re- 
plied Edward,  smiling.  "  But  we  have  proofs  every  day  of  our 
power  over  our  own   thoughts.     If  an  idea  is  disagreeable,  we 


"  Yes,  but  instinctively  ;  we  cannot  help  ourselves." 

"  1  beg  your  pardon  ;   we  merely  obey  our  own  will  ;  and  the 


GERTRUDE.  8l 


same  power  which  we  exert  then,  is  ours  equally  at  all  times.  It 
is  the  will  which  is  at  fault ;  and  one  important  reason  for  real- 
izing this  truth  is,  that  it  enables  us  to  study  our  own  hearts  so 
much  more  easily.  Our  feelings  come  and  go,  and  we  cannot 
recall  them,  but  our  thoughts  are  remembered  without  much 
difficulty,  and  by  them  we  may  try  ourselves ;  that  is,  we  may 
judge  whether  we  are  improving,  by  seeing  whether  we  encour- 
age the  good  and  reject  the  evil." 

"  So  I  shall  not  be  good,  I  suppose,  till  I  leave  off  thinking 
about  that  hideous  cottage,"  said  Laura,  "  and  that  will  be  a  very 
long  time.     Even  you  yourself,  Edward,  wish  it  away." 

'"  It  is  nof  the  wish  which  is  wrong,  but  the  indulging  it.  You 
know  that  a  wish  is  the  germ  of  an  action." 

"  It  cannot  be  in  this  case.  I  might  try  forever,  and  I  should 
not  be  able  to  turn  that  tiresome  old  woman  out  of  her  house. 
That  must  be  your  doing." 

'  Yet,  if  you  go  on  wishing,  you  will  infallibly  do  all  that  you 
can.  It  is  more  dangerous  for  a  man  or  a  woman  to  play  with 
wishes,  than  for  a  child  to  play  with  edged  tools." 

"I  should  care  less  if  there  were  any  hope,"  said  Laura — "if 
I  thought  you  would  even  hint  at  the  subject." 

"  There  would  be  no  use  in  it,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  I  know  old 
Martha  better  than  you  do." 

Laura  perceived  symptoms  of  wavering  in  the  tone  in  which 
this  was  spoken*. 

'•  A  hint  could  not  be  wrong,"  she  said,  "  and  it  would  at 
least  be  satisfactory.  It  is  so  provoking  to  be  obliged  to  sit 
down  contentedly  when  no  effort  has  been  made  to  gain  one's 
point." 

"  But  you  would  not  be  contented  even  then,"  said  Edward. 

"  That  is  prejudging  ;  but  I  will  not  quarrel  with  you  ;  though 
I  own  I  am  disappointed." 

The  word  jarred  painfully  upon  Edward's  feelings  of  affection, 
and  Laura  saw  it. 

"I  ask  only  for  hope,"  she  said,  "that  you  should  promise  to 
try,  if  you  find  a  fitting  opportunity." 

'•  W  ell,  then,  will  you  sit  in  your  morning  room  and  like  it  J" 
he  said,  as  he  looked  at  her  fondly. 

Laura  smiled,  and  was  about  to  reply  and  thank  him,  when  the 
sound  of  the  hall  bell  interrupted  the  conversation  ;  and  a  few 
moments  afterwards  Miss  Forester's  soft,  sliding  step  was  heard 
in  the  passage.  Edward  seemed  annoyed,  and,  taking  up  his  hat, 
he  opened  the  French  window,  ami  turning  an  angle  of  the  house, 
was  out  of  sight  before  Miss  Forester  entered. 

"  So  very  thoughtful  !  my  dear  Mrs.  Courtenay,"  was  the  first 
exclamation.  "J  am  afraid  I  have  intruded  a.t  a.  mal-a-propos 
moment." 


32  GERTRTTDE. 


"  No,  not  at  all,  my  meditations  were  not  peculiarly  agreeable 
since  they  were  bordering  upon  impossibilities.  I  have  been 
talking  to  Mr.  Courtenay  upon  the  same  subject  which  you  and 
I  discussed  the  other  morning." 

"  The  cottage  ?     But  surely  that  is  not  an  impossibility  !" 

"  Perhaps  not  precisely  ;  but  there  are  great  difficulties  in  the 
way ;  and  I  can  only  make  Edward  say  that  he  will  give  hints  ; 
he  will  take  no  active  measures." 

"  Gentlemen  are  so  tiresome,"  said  Miss  Forester,  who  well 
knew  that  few  things  are  more  winning  than  sympathy  in  a  sup- 
posed grievance  ;  "  but  he  must  own  that  it  is  frightful ;  and  the 
view  would  be  perfection  without  it." 

"  Yes,  Edward  fully  allows  its  ugliness,  though  he  does  not 
hate  it  as  1  do.  If  I  were  master,  it  should  not  remain  where  it 
is  another  day." 

"  I  suppose,"  continued  Miss  Forester,  "  that  Mr.  Courtenay 
would  not.  object  to  any  thing  being  done  if  the  old  woman's  con- 
sent were  gained  first  '!" 

"  No,  but  how  is  that  to  be  accomplished  T  He  does  not  say 
that  he  will  not  interfere,  but  I  can  see  he  is  not  inclined  to  do  it." 

"  Then,  perhaps,  he  would  prefer  your  saying  something  to 
sound  the  old  woman.  It  would  save  his  conscience,  and  might 
gain  what  he  must  desire  nearly  as  much  as  yourself." 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  likely,  because  Martha  is  proverbial  for 
obstinacy  and  ill-humor." 

"  Then  she  certainly  can  have  no  claims  upon  your  forbear- 
ance.    Do  you  know  her  1" 

"  No  ;  I  have  talked  of  going  there  several  times,  for  Mr. 
Courtenay  has  been  rather  anxious  I  should  ;  but  there  are  so 
many  things  to  be  done  every  day,  and  I  am  such  a  bad  walker, 
that  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  manage  it." 

"  It  is  not  far,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "  and  the  morning  is  de- 
lightful ;  so  very  fresh  and  bracing." 

"  I  could  not  go  without  saying  something  to  Edward  first," 
replied  Laura. 

"  Mr.  Courtenay's  horse  was  standing  ready  saddled  as  I 
passed  the  stables,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "  so  I  conjectured  he 
was  going  out  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  he  did  intend  it,  but  he  can  scarcely  have  set  off  yet: 
he  was  with  me  but  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  I  heard  the  tramping  of  horses'  feet,  just  now,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Forester.  "  Does  Mr.  Courtenay  wish  particularly 
to  accompany  you  when  you  pay  your  first  visit  to  this  old  favor- 
ite ?" 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of;  but  there  would  be  no  good  in  see- 
ing her,  if  we  did  not  suggest  something  about  the  cottage,  which 
I  really  should  not  flke  to  do." 


GERTRUDE.  83 


"  But  it  would  not  he  necessary  to  speak  openly ;  and,  at  any 
rate,  a  visit  now  would  pave  the  way  for  future  operations." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Laura,  thoughtfully.  "  We  might  go 
and  make  friends,  and  by  degrees  prevail  on  her  to  yield  ;  and, 
as  you  observed,  Edward  may  prefer  my  taking  the  task  of* 
his  "hands,  since  he  allows  that  it  may  be  possible  to  give  Mar- 
tha a  few  hints,  though  he  will  have  nothing  done  against  her 
will." 

"  Exactly  so.  Mr.  Courtenay  would  be  pleased  rather  than 
otherwise,  I  should  think,  to  find  that  you  had  taken  so  much 
trouble  about  the  poor  old  woman." 

Laura's  sincerity,  at  first,  could  not  suffer  an  amiable  motive 
to  be  falsely  imputed  to  her ;  and  she  quickly  disclaimed  all 
idea  of  goodness,  though  still  agreeing  that  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  go,  and  that  it  might  be  of  use  in  the  end.  A  slight 
misgiving  rested  upon  her  mind  as  she  went  to  prepare  for  her 
walk,  and  once  she  recollected  Edward's  warnings  against 
wishes ;  but  as  she  was  merely  intending  a  kind,  conciliatory 
visit,  they  did  not  seem  precisely  applicable  ;  and  when  con- 
science again  whispered  that  all  was  not  right,  she  wilfully  turn- 
ed away  from  the  consideration  of  her  real  motives,  and  soon 
almost  persuaded  herself  that  Miss  Forester  was  correct,  and 
that  she  really  was  about  to  do  what  her  husband  would  entirely 
approve. 


CHAPTER    XII 


There  was  something  of  timidity  and  hesitation  in  Laura's 
gentle  knock  at  old  Martha's  door;  partly  caused  by  her  utter 
ignorance  of  the  feelings  and  habits  of  the  poor,  and  partly  by 
the  secret  self-distrust  which  yet  lingered  in  her  heart.  Miss 
Forester,  however,  participated  in  neither  feeling:  and  finding 
that  no  answer  was  given,  lifted  the  latch,  and  without  further 
ceremony,  entered  the  cottage. 

Martha  was  seated,  in  her  usual  position,  on  a  low,  half- 
Droken  elbow  chair,  by  the  side  of  the  open  hearth.  A  book 
was  placed  on  the  little  round  table  beside  her,  but  she  did  not 
ippear  to  have  been  reading  it;  and,  benaing  over  the  smoul- 
dering fire,  she  was  busied  only  in  watching  the  black  pot,  sus- 
pended from  a  stick  that  crossed  the  wide  chimney,  and  from 
time  to  time  stretching  out  her  withered  hand  to  stir  the  burning 
logs,  or  to  add  fresh  fuel  from  the  basket  of  chips  in  the  corner 


P4  GERTRUDE. 


An  eye  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  poverty,  would  have  traced 
symptoms  of  competence  and  comfort  in  the  simple  furniture  of 
the  room  ;  in  the  short  curtain  hanging  before  the  door,  and  the 
old-fashioned  handsome  clock,  and  mahogany  chest,  and  neat 
dresser,  with  its  range  of  pewter  dishes  and  china  cups  and  ba- 
sin ;  but  Laura,  who  from  infancy  had  been  carefully  kept  from 
all  scenes  but  those  of  opulence  and  luxury,  thought  only  that 
the  cottage  was  low  and  dark  ;  that  the  walls  were  smoke-dried  ; 
that  the  floor  was  uneven  ;  and  the  furniture  by  no  means  suf- 
ficient for  comfort. 

"  She  must  be  glad  to  leave  such  a  wretched  hole,"  whispered 
Miss  Forester  ;  as  she  drew  her  dress  closely  around  her,  and 
bent  her  head  in  an  assumed  fear  lest  it  should  touch  the  dingy 
rafters. 

Martha  raised  herself  from  her  crouching  posture,  and  gazed 
with  surprise  on  the  intruders.  Her  strong  marked  features, 
and  the  cold,  stern  expression  of  her  thin  lips,  and  dim  gray  eyes, 
startled  Laura  so  much,  that  she  forgot,  for  an  instant,  the  neces- 
sary apology  ;  and  Miss  Forester,  feeling  that  the  visit  was  not 
hers,  was  silent  likewise ;  but  Martha  was  not  in  the  humor  to 
wait  patiently  for  an  introduction. 

"  May  be  you'll  be  pleased  to  tell  me  what  you're  come  here 
for,"'  she  said,  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"We  came  to  see  you,"  replied  Laura,  gently  ;  "I  am  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  of  Allingham." 

Martha's  rigid  features  relaxed,  and  something  which  she 
intended  to  be  a  smile,  brightened  her  wrinkled  face. — "  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  are  you?  Master  Edward's  fine  lady.  Well!  I'm 
glad  you're  here  at  last." 

"  1  am  sure  you  must  be  extremely  grateful  to  Mrs.  Courtenay 
for  walking  so  far  to  see  you,"  suggested  Miss  Forester. 

"  Grateful  !  yes,  I'm  as  grateful  as  most  people  where  there's 
any  thing  to  be  grateful  for;  I'd  be  grateful  to  God  first,  and  to 
Master  Edward  afterwards,  and  Miss  Edith  and  the  parson,  but 
I  don't  know  much  about  other  folks." 

"  You  are  an  old  servant  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's  family,  are  you 
not 1"  said  Miss  Forester  ;  "  you  seem  very  comfortably  provided 
for." 

';  May  be  I  am,"  exclaimed  Martha,  turning  sharply  round  ; 
"  I  lived  twenty  years  up  at  the  Priory  there,  and  worked  for 
them  night  and  day  ;  so  'twould  have  been  hard  if  they  had  not 
done  something  for  me." 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Courtenay  would  be  very  sorry  if  he  thought 
you  were  in  want  of  any  thing,"  observed  Laura,  anxious  to 
Booth  her. 

"  "Pisn't  my  way  to  doubt  it,"  said  Martha,  shortly. 

"  Mrs.  Courtenay  will  think  you  are  not  obliged  for  all  thaJ 


GERTRUDE.  85 


has  been  done  for  you,  if  you  speak  in  that  way,"  said  Miss 
Forester ;  "  she  is  not  used  to  it." 

"  No  !  I  dare  say  not  ;  Tom  Slater  says  that  down  at  their 
fine  place  no  one  is  thought  any  thing  of  that  doesn't  ride  in  a 
carriage." 

"  Who  is  Tom  Slater  1"  asked  Laura,  wondering  that  any  one 
at  Elsham  should  profess  an  acquaintance  with  her  home. 

"  Tom  Slater's  the  head  man  who  was  at  work  up  at  the 
hall  there.  Poor  fellow  !  he  and  my  Becky  wTere  to  have  made 
it  up  together,  and  then  'twould  have  been  all  very  well  ;  but  the 
fever  came,  and  Becky  got  ill,  and  when  she  was  gone,  'twas  all 
over  with  me  in  the  way  of  being  happy  again  !  To  have  lived 
up  at  the  Park  would  have  been  no  pleasure  then."  Tears  filled 
the  old  woman's  eyes,  and  Laura's  naturally  kind  feelings  were 
touched  ;  yet  she  could  not  forego  the  occasion  of  introducing 
some  allusions  to  the  object  of  her  visit. 

'•  Then,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  it  does  not  signify  to  you 
where  you  live  now  ;  one  place  must  be  just  like  another." 

"  Well !  perhaps  it  is  ;  but  I  never  liked  change  ;  where  I 
settled  myself  down,  I  chose  always  to  stay." 

"  Only,  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "  that  when  the  trouble 
of  moving  was  over,  you  would  not  care." 

Martha  raised  her  head,  and  looked  full  in  Miss  Forester's 
face.  "  Are  ye  driving  at  any  thing  !"  she  said,  her  suspicions 
easily  excited  upon  the  subject  which  had  lately  been  uppermost 
in  her  thoughts. 

Laura  felt  a  little  abashed,  but  Miss  Forester  answered  with 
nonchalance — "  We  were  only  anxious  to  know  if  you  were  well 
oif  here,  or  would  be  more  comfortable  elsewhere.  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  is  extremely  desirous  that  you  should  have  every  thing  you 
may  require." 

"Is  she]"  said  Martha.  "  I  want  nothing  but  to  be  left  in 
peace  where  I  am  :  and  Mr.  Edward  has  promised  me  that." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "  he  only  promised  it,  in 
case  he  could  not  find  any  place  better  suited  for  you.  He  could 
nut  have  thought  this  dark  room  as  good  as  many  others  in  the 
neighborhood." 

"  He  never  told  inn  what  he  thought,  but  I  told  him  what  1 
thought;  and  if  a  dark  room  pleases  me, 'tis  no  one's  concern 
but  my  own." 

"You  forjrct,"  said  Miss  Forester,  "that  there  are  many 
persons  who  wish  to  sec  you  well  provided  for :  .Mrs.  Courlenay, 
for  one,  besides  your  own  family." 

"  Who's  the  best  judge  of  what's  being  well  provided  for?" 
siid  Martha.  "  No  one  knows  my  own  mind  like  myself.  If 
Mr.  Edward  would  order  a  pint  of  porter  sometimes  for  Willie's 
little  girl,  I'd  thank  him     and  a  shilling  or  two  for  the  fauulv,  1 


Sb  GERTRUDE. 


shouldn't  say 'no'   to;    but  I  don't  wish   him  to  trouble  about 


K 


"  Does  your  son  live  far  off?"  asked  Laura. 

"  Something  about  half  a  mile  ;  but  he  generally  contrives  to 
see  me  every  day — or  one  of  the  children  comes  to  me." 

"  If  you  were  close  to  them  you  would  be  more  comfortable 
surely,"  said  Miss  Forester  ;  "you  must  spend  so  many  hours 
alone." 

"  It's  best  for  an  old  woman  like  me  :  the  children  are  noisy, 
and  I  can't  bear  them  for  long." 

Laura  could  scarcely  help  smiling  at  the  pertinacity  with 
which  Martha  refuted  all  the  objections  that  could  be  made  to 
her  present  situation  ;  but  the  very  difficulty  of  success  served 
to  increase  her  anxiety,  and  she  sat  for  a  few  momenta  in  silence, 
endeavoring  to  discover  some  new  point  of  attack.  Martha 
rinding  that  the  conversation  had  dropped,  turned  again  to  the 
fire  ;  and  Miss  Forester  walked  towards  the  door,  unwilling  to 
take  any  more  trouble  in  a  cause  which  did  not  materially  affect 
her  own  personal  comfort. 

Martha  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  with  a  remark 
which  plainly  showed  she  desired  the  departure  of  her  visiters. 
— "  It's  getting  on  late,"  she  said  ;  "  my  bit  of  meat  will  be  ready 
by  twelve  o'clock  ;  and  I  thought  Miss  Edith  would  have  been 
here  before, — she  said  she  would." 

"  Do  you  expect  Miss  Courtenay  then  V  said  Laura,  halt 
alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  rencontre  with  her  sister-in-law. 

"  It's  her  day  for  coming,  and  she  most  times  keeps  true  to  her 
word." 

"Don't  you  think  we  had  better  think  of  returning  V  said 
Miss  Forester,  entirely  participating  in  Mrs.  Courtenay's  feelings. 

Laura  moved,  with  the  intention  of  wishing  good-by.  The 
few  civil  words  at  parting  were  quickly  said  :  and  she  thought 
they  were  safe  ;  but  Edith,  true  to  the  appointment,  approached 
the  cottage  just  as  they  were  leaving  it ;  and  the  meeting  was 
unavoidable  ;  at  another  time,  Laura  might  have  felt  indifferent 
to  the  smile  on  Edith's  face,  and  to  her  expressions  of  pleasure 
that  she  should  have  taken  the  trouble  to  visit  a  poor  person  ; 
but  now,  with  the  consciousness  of  a  selfish  motive,  they  sounded 
reproachfully,  and  the  tone  of  her  own  reply  was  hurried,  and 
to  Edith's  ear  ungracious. 

"  It  is  the  first  day  I  have  been  able  to  walk  so  early,"  she 
said  ;  "  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  not  do  so  again  for  some  time." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  am  sure  you  will,  since  you  have  once  begun," 
replied  Edith,  kindly  ;  "  it  is  but  the  first  effort  that  is  difficult." 

"  There  is  nothing  very  alluring  in  the  occupation,"  observed 
Miss  Forester,  "  when  only  discontent  and  rudeness  are  to  Iv 
met  with." 


GERTRUDE. 


Edith  almost  started.  In  her  surprise  at  meeting  her  sister- 
in-law,  she  had  scarcely  thought  who  was  her  companion  ;  but 
the  well-known  voice  brought  the  fact  forcibly  before  her  ;  and 
her  satisfaction  in  the  meeting  was  considerably  damped. 

"  Martha  is  not  very  civil,  certainly,"  she  said  ;  "  but  there 
are  great  allowances  to  be  made  for  her ;  she  had  no  education, 
and  was  early  soured  by  misfortunes  ;  and  her  heart  is  much 
softer  and  more  grateful  than  it  appears." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Laura,  carelessly ;  "  but  I  wish  you 
would  give  her  a  lesson  in  good  manners.  It  will  be  long  before 
I  am  tempted  to  come  again." 

"  But,"  said  Edith,  "  when  your  motive  is  kindness,  her  civil- 
ity cannot  make  any  difference  to  you,  except  in  the  pleasure  you 
riceive.  It  is  rather  an  additional  reason,  indeed,  for  seeing  her 
•  ■ften,  and  teaching  her  better." 

"  Oh  !  I  leave  that  to  you  ;  besides" — and  Laura  slightly  col- 
ored— "  I  don't  wish  you  to  think  me  better  than  I  am,  Edith  ; 
my  motive  was  not  entirely  kindness." 

"Edith  looked  surprised,  but  did  not  know  what  reply  to  make; 
and  Miss  Forester  felt  bewildered  by  a  candor,  to  which  there 
was  no  counterpart  in  her  own  breast. 

"I  should  really  feel  obliged  to  you,  Edith,"  continued  Laura, 
speaking  very  quickly,  "  if  you  could  find  some  means  of  per- 
suading that  "tiresome  old  woman  to  move  out  of  her  cottage; 
she  is  beyond  hints." 

"  Oh!  Laura,"  exclaimed  Edith,  indignantly  ;  "you  have  not 

been  saying  any  thing !  remember  Edward's  promise It  would 

be  so  very  wrong  to  urge  the  point." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  an  equally  good  judge  with  yourself  as  to 
the  right  or  wrong  of  the  case,"  replied  Laura,  in  a  cold,  proud 
tone, — which  proved  that  her  transient  fit  of  humility  had  van- 
ished before  her  sister's  reproach.  "  I  have  given  no  hints  that 
could  be  understood,  or  inflict  the  least  pain,  and  you  may  be 
sure  that  Edward  will  be  a  very  safe  guardian  of  his  own  pro- 
mise." 

"  He  will  intend  to  be,"  replied  Edith;  "  but  you  cannot  be 
ignorant  of  your  influence,  Laura." 

"  1  think 'too  highly  of  him,  to  suppose  I  could  make  him  do 
any  thing  lie  considered  wrong,"  said  Laura  ;  "  but  you  seem  to 
have  a  more  unfavorable  opinion." 

The  assertion  was  provoking  from  the  mixture  of  unpleasant 
truth  it  contained  :  for,  doubtful  as  Edith  had  lately  been  of  her 
brother's  firmness,  she  did  not  always  acknowledge  it  to  herself. 
'•  Whether  your  power  over  Edward  is  great  or  small,"  she 
replied,  "  it  ought  equally  to  be  exerted  rightly  ;  and  you  cannot 
really  think  it  would  be  justifiable  to  ask  any  one  to  do  a  thing 
they  had  promised  not  to  do." 


88  GERTRUDE. 


"  Really,  Edith,"  exclaimed  Laura,  "  I  must  discuss  the  sub- 
ject another  time  ;  it  is  too  cold,  this  morning,  to  stand  so  long 
in  the  open  air — so  good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  replied.  Edith,  in  a  calm  tone,  which  told  little 
of  her  real  feelings  ;  and  with  a  distant  bow  to  Miss  Forester, 
she  walked  towards  the  cottage. 

"  So  you're  come  at  last,"  was  Martha's  salutation.  "If  you'd 
been  here  a  minute  before,  you'd  have  seen  Master  Edward's 
lady." 

"  I  have  just  seen  her,  nurse  ;  we  parted  only  ten  yards  from 
your  door." 

"  Then,  may  be,  Miss  Edith,  you  can  tell  me  what  she  came 
for — it's  more  than  I  can." 

"  Oh !  it  is  not  very  difficult  to  imagine,"  said  Edith,  striving 
to  evade  the  question.  "  Being  my  brother's  nurse,  she  must 
naturally  feel  interested  about  you." 

"  But  it  wasn't  that,"  said  Martha,  as  she  fixed  her  keen  eye 
upon  Edith.  "  She  didn't  come  for  nothing — I'm  sure  she  didn't 
— and  her  talk  wasn't  like  it.  Nothing  of  asking  for  the  rheu- 
matism,  or  the  pigs,  or  how  I  slept,  and  such  like  things — only 
speering  to  know  if  I  shouldn't  like  to  change  house.  May  be, 
Miss  Edith,  she  means  that  I  shall,  whether  I  like  it  or  not." 

"  You  must  not  be  fanciful,  Martha,"  said  Edith  ;  "  why  don't 
you  think  I  have  some  motive  for  coming  here]" 

"  Because  it  wouldn't  be  like  you,"  said  Martha,  as  she  took 
Edith's  hand  in  hers — "it  wasn't  like  you  when  you  was  a  child  ; 
and  I'm  sure  it  isn't  like  you  now,  for  all  the  village  says  there's 
no  one  that  thinks  of  them  as  you  do — only  the  parson  and  his 
lady." 

"  But.  you  must  not  praise  me,  and  think  unkindly  of  my  sis- 
ter," said  Edith  ;  "  she  won't  be  willing  to  come  here  again,  if 
you  are  not  more  pleased  to  see  her." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  it  so  much  if  she  was  to  come  alone,"  said 
Martha  ;  "  but  that  Miss  that  was  with  her,  no  one  ever  found 
any  good  where  she  was.  All  the  people  for  twenty  miles  round 
would  tell  you  so  ;  she  is  always  prying  and  fault-finding,  and 
doing  some  mischief." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  Martha,"  said  Edith  ;  "  you  know  we  are  told 
not  to  speak  evil  of  our  neighbors." 

"  It  isn't  evil,"  said  Martha  ;  "  only  what's  true.  They  never 
give  away  to  the  value  of  a  brass  farthing  up  to  the  Grange." 

"  But  it  may  be  evil,  though  it  is  true,"  replied  Edith;  "and 
the  less  we  speak  of  other  people's  faults  the  better." 

"  Well !  then,  I  won't  say  no  more  about  her — only  I  never 
knew  her  to  be  seen  anywhere,  but  what  mischief  was  sure  to 
follow  after  ;  and  so  'twill  be  now,  as  certain  as  I'm  living." 

Martha's  tones  were  so  raised  by  the  excitement  into  whirl? 


GERTRUDE. 


89 


she  was  working  herself,  that  Edith  did  not  hear  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps ;  and  the  first  notice  she  received  of  the 
presence  of  a  third  person,  was  by  a  hand  laid  upon  her  shoulder, 
while  Edward's  voice  as«.ed  "  how  long  she  had  been  there." 

Edith's  face  brightened  with  pleasure.  In  his  presence  the 
charm  of  his  society  made  her  forget  her  doubts  and  disappoint- 
ments, except  when  painfully  reminded  of  them  by  Laura's  con- 
versation, or  his  own  inconsistencies  ;  and  at  that  instant,  when 
she  thought  that  he  was  no  partner  in  his  wife's  selfishness,  the 
deep,  pure  love  of  her  childhood,  the  love  which  years,  and 
absence,  and  opposing  interests,  may  stifle,  but  can  never  ex- 
tinguish, rose  in  its  full  force,  and  with  a  warmth  which  lately 
had  been  seldom  shown,  she  expressed  her  delight  at  their 
meeting. 

"  One  would  think  you  had  been  over  the  seas,"  said  old  Mar- 
tha, not  entirely  pleased  at  being  made  of  secondary  importance  : 
"  I  dare  say  now  you  was  together  all  day  yesterday." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Edith,  "  nor  the  day  before,  nor  the  day 
before  that ;  we  are  becoming  quite  strangers  to  what  we  once 
were." 

"And  whose  fault  is  it,  Edith?"  said  Edward,  kindly  yet 
gravely.  "  Not  mine  :  you  know  the  hall  is  your  home  at  all 
seasons  and  all  hours." 

"  Nor  mine,''  replied  Edith  ;  "  circumstances  cannot  be  avoid- 
ed." 

"  So  we  think,  when  we  do  not  make  the  effort :  but  we  will 
talk  of  that  by-and-by.  I  want  to  know  how  you  are,  Martha  : 
how  is  the  rheumatism'?  You  must  be  feeling  it  again  now,  I 
should  fear  ;  the  weather  has  been  so  damp  till  to-day." 

"  Yes,  it's  bad  enough  sometimes,"  said  Martha,  in  a  less  sulky 
tone  than  usual  ;  "  but  it's  not  like  last  winter.  The  curtain  up 
there  keeps  out  a  deal  of  air." 

"That  was  your  thought,  Edith,"  said  Edward;  "it  would 
never  have  entered  my  head  ;  but  is  the  cottage  comfortable, 
Martha?  you  used  to  say  it  smoked." 

"  .So  it  does  still  with  a  northeaster,  but  somehow  I'm  got  used 
to  it,  and  a  tittle  of  it  seems  thick  and  snug." 

'•  That  is  a  novel  notion,"  said  Edward,  laughing  :  "  but  you 
have  turned  over  a  new  leaf  since  you  came  here,  Martha,  and 
are  determined  to  make  the  best  of  every  tiling." 

The  old  woman  smiled  grimly,  as  she  answered, — "  No,  no, 
Master  Edward,  that  never  was  my  way  yet;  but  1  don't  care 
for  things  SO  much  as  1  used  ;  only  for  being  quiet.  A  long  life's 
a  long  journey,  and  one  is  glad  to  sit  down  at  the  end  of  it." 

"  .Still  I  can't  help  wishing  you  had  a  more  comfortable  rest 
ing-place,"  observed  Edward.  "A  little  more  light,  for  instance 


would  lie  an  advantage." 


90  GERTRUDE. 


"  So  Tom  Slater  says,  when  he  comes  here  and  talks  about 
the  cottage  at  the  end  of  the  lane  ;  but  I  tells  him  to  let  me  be 
quiet,  for  you've  promised  I  shan't  move  unless  it  pleases  me, 
and  I'm  sure  it  never  will.  As  for  the  light,  there's  a  very  good 
place  for  another  window  just  behind  the  door,  if  so  be  as  you're 
inclined  for  it." 

This  did  not  exactly  meet  Edward's  wishes.  During  his  soli- 
tary ride  he  had  been  pondering  much  upon  his  conversation 
with  Laura,  and  longing  to  devise  some  plan  for  gratifying  her  ; 
and  although  without  any  intention  of  breaking  his  word,  or  forc- 
ing his  old  nurse  to  consent  to  what  might  be  against  her  notions 
of  comfort,  the  desire  of  pleasing  his  wife  became,  upon  consid- 
eration, so  strong,  that  after  a  little  hesitation,  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  in  the  direction  of  Martha's  cottage,  with  the  deter- 
mination of  sounding  her  upon  the  subject  of  the  exchange.  She 
seemed,  however,  more  bent  than  ever  upon  being  satisfied  on 
this  one  point,  though  discontented  on  almost  every  other,  and 
Edward  felt  irritated  as  the  conversation  proceeded,  and  as  he 
found  how  insuperable  a  barrier  lay  between  his  inclination  and 
his  duty ;  and  breaking  off  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Well,  Martha,  I  see  you  are  resolved  to  live  ana 
die  where  you  are  ;  but  if  you  were  nearer  to  us  it  would  be  bet- 
ter :  Mrs.  Courtenay  would  be  able  to  see  you  oftener  then." 

"  Laura  has  just  been  here  this  morning,"  said  Edith  :  "  we. 
parted  just  before  you  came." 

"  Has  she,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  with  evident  pleas- 
ure. "  That  is  so  like  her — doing  the  very  things  she  knows  I 
most  wish,  yet  so  secretly  that  I  can  never  find  them  out  till  af- 
terwards. You  must  go  with  her,  Edith,  now  she  has  once  begun 
seeing  the  poor  people  ;  she  will  want  some  one  to  introduce  her." 

Edith  looked  grave,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  think  your  young  madam  is  much  used  to  poor  folks," 
said  Martha,  "  she  didn't  seem  to  know  what  to  do  with  herself 
tvhen  she  came." 

"She  was  shy,  I  dare  say,  at  a  first  visit,"  replied  Edward  ; 
"  but  she  will  be  delighted  to  send  any  thing  for  you  that  you 
may  want  from  the  Hall,  and  1  am  sure  she  will  come  and  see 
you  frequently." 

"  Don't  let  her  come  with  that  Miss  from  the  Grange,  then," 
said  Martha  :  "  nobody  wants  her — there's  always  mischief  at 
her  heels." 

"Was  Miss  Forester  here  too1?"  asked  Edward,  turning  to 
hi*  sister,  and  speaking  quickly.  "  What  could  have  induced 
Laura  to  bring  her  1" 

"  1  only  spoke  to  them  for  a  minute,"  replied  Edith,  "  and  had 
no  time  to  ask  questions ;  but  I  wonder  you  are  surprised  -.  Miss 
Forester  is  always  at  the  Hall." 


GERTRUDE.  9l 


Edward  frowned  and  bit  his  lip,  scarcely  knowing-  whether 
lo  be  most  provoked  with  Miss  Forester's  visits,  or  his  sister's 
observations.  "  Did  the  ladies  stay  with  you  long,  Martha  ?" 
he  said. 

"  Oh  no ;  just  while  they  were  putting  some  questions  about 
the  cottage,  and  my  liking  it,  as  you  might  have  been  doing  but 
now,  Master  Edward.  They  didn't  seem  to  care  for  any  thing 
but  that ;  and  if  you  please  to  ask  them  when  you  get  home, 
they'll  be  sure  to  tell  you  they  was  driving  at  something.  They 
didn't  come  here  for  nothing,"  not  they.  That  Miss  never  went 
nowhere  for  nothing." 

"What  dots  she  mean,  Edith ?"  said  Edward,  taking  his  sis- 
ter aside.     "  What  has  Laura  been  doing  1" 

"  Really  I  cannot  say.  As  I  told  you,  I  only  met  her  at  the 
door,  and  then  she  seemed  annoyed  at  Martha's  manner,  and 
asked  me  to  find  some  way  of  making  her  consent  to  leave  her 
cottage." 

Edward  took  up  his  hat  as  if  to  go  away,  but  suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself,  exclaimed,  "I  have  no  time  to  stay  any  longer, 
nurse, — I  shall  come  another  day,  so  good-by  now.  Edith,  you 
will  walk  home  with  me."  And  they  left  the  cottage  together. 
Martha  looked  after  them  for  a  few  moments  in  considerable  sur- 
prise, and  then  with  a  raised  hand  and  a  muttered  ejaculation — 
"  Hugh  !  what's  come  over  the  young  things?  they  are  up  and 
off  like  a  windy  day," — she  drew  her  chair  nearer  the  hearth, 
and  began  her  preparations  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Edith  and  her  brother  continued  their  walk  for  some  little 
distance  without  speaking,  but  Edward's  quick  step  and  impa- 
tient flourish  of  his  whip,  as  he  demolished  every  thistle  and 
bramble  within  his  reach,  showed  that  his  feelings  were  not 
quite  calm.  "What  can  be  done?"  he  exclaimed  at  length, 
partly  addressing  himself  to  Edith,  and  partly  giving  utterance 
to  bis  secret  thoughts.  "  .She  is  the  last  person  Laura  ought  to 
be  with." 

"Who!"  ask.d  Edith,  quietly. 

"Why  d.»  yon  ask,  Edith  !  "There  is  but  one  person  in  the 
neighborhood  whom  we  really  dislike,  and  it  is  so  provoking  that 

Laura  should  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  her." 

"And   still   more   provoking  that  she  should  be  led  by  her," 


02  GERTRUDE. 


observed  Edith.     "  I  am  certain  Miss  Forester  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  that  visit  to  old  Martha." 

"You  must  be  mistaken  there,"  said  Edward.  "Laura 
would  not  take  any  steps  about  the  cottage  without  consulting 
me,  and  she  knows  my  determination.  I  will  never  trust  any 
one  but  myself  to  sound  Martha  upon  the  subject ;  she  is  so  keep 
that  she  would  see  through  it  at  once,  and  think  I  meant  to  break 
my  word ;  and  indeed  it  would  be  useless :  I  went  as  iar  as  ] 
dared  just  now,  and  it  is  evident  that  she  will  nett.f  willingly 
move." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Edith,  "  nothing  could  be  more  clear 
hut  I  don't  think  I  am  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Laura  wished 
to  induce  her  to  consent.     In  fact  she  implied  as  much  in  the 
short  conversation  we  had  together,  and  I  was  longing  to  see 
you,  Edward,  to  speak  about  it." 

"  You  don't  mean,"  exclaimed  Edward,  pausing  abruptly  in 
his  walk,  "  that  you  imagined  for  one  instant  that  any  persua- 
sions could  induce  me  to  break  my  promise?" 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Edith,  hesitatingly,  not  choosing  to 
inquire  to  what  extent  she  had  learned  to  distrust  him  ;  "  but  the 
very  idea  would  be  painful  to  poor  old  Martha,  and  I  don't  think 
Laura  perceives  this  ;  and  she  might  wish  you  to  propose,  though 
not  to  urge  it." 

"  And  you  don't  think  I  have  firmness  to  refuse,"  said  Edward. 
'  That  is  not  what  I  should  have  expected  from  you." 

The  tears  rose  to  Edith's  eyes,  and  her  voice  slightly  faltered, 
as  she  answered  hastily, — "  1  don't  know  what  you  ought  to  ex- 
pect now,  Edward  ;  it  is  all  so  changed." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ]  who  is  changed  ] — not  myTself,  I  am 
sure.     Tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  Nothing — nonsense.  There  is  no  good  in  talking  of  it ;  we 
cannot  make  things  as  they  once  were  ;  arid  you  would  not 
wish  it." 

"  But  you  would,"  said  Edward,  in  a  grave,  reproachful  tone. 

Edith  was  silent. 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,  Edith,"  he  continued.  "  The  change, 
if  there  is  a  change,  is  in  yourself.  The  love  which  was  yours 
before  I  married,  is  yours  still.  Allingham  may  be  your  home 
now,  as  it  was  then ;  but  you  refuse  it ;  you  estrange  yourself 
from  us,  and  then  complain  of  alterations." 

"  No,  Edward,"  exclaimed  Edith ;  "  I  do  not  complain — I 
never  could — I  have  no  right — your  choice  was  your  own,  and 
no  one  can  blame  you  for  consulting  your  own  happiness." 

"Then  why  is  there  this  reserve  between  us]"  asked  Ed- 
ward. "  We  have  often  talked  of  my  marriage  as  a  thing  of 
course — no  one  could  have  entered  more  warmly  into  my  feel- 
ings.    Why  should  you  shut  yourself  up  from  me  now,  and  shun 


GERTRUDE.  93 


the  society  of  the  person  I  flattered  myself  would  have  been  aa 
dear  to  you  as  your  own  sisters  1" 

"I  do  not  shun  any  one,"  replied  Edith  ;  (i  but  I  have  many 
occupations,  and  but  little  time  to  myself;  and  my  society  is  not 
likely  to  give  Laura  any  pleasure." 

"  That  will  not  deceive  me,"  said  Edward  ;  "  constrained  hu- 
mility never  can." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  deceive  any  one,"  replied  Edith,  with  some- 
thing of  haughtiness  ;  "  but  if  persons  are  unlike  in  taste  and 
disposition,  it  is  vain  to  hope  they  will  ever  assimilate." 

"  Certainly  not,  if  they  resolutely  determine  that  there  shall 
be  no  neutral  -ground  upon  which  to  meet — and  this  seems  to  be 
your  case." 

"  There  can  be  no  neutral  ground  formed,  where  none  exists," 
said  Edith  ;  "  but  we  are  talking  foolishly,  Edward  ;  you  can 
never  understand,  and  I  can  scarcely  desire  that  you  should." 

"  But,  indeed,  I  do  understand,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  you  fancy 
that  Laura,  because  she  has  been  bred  up  with  London  notions, 
cannot  enter  into  yours  ;  but  she  can  into  mine — and  once,  Edith, 
that  would  have  been  sufficient." 

"  Yes,  once — once" — exclaimed  Edith,  eagerly,  "  but  !" 

and  she  paused. 

"  Why  should  you  hesitate  !"  continued  her  brother  ;  "  my 
most  earnest  wish  is,  that  you  should  speak  to  me  without  re- 
serve." 

"  It  is  impossible  !"  said  Edith.  "  And  I  know  I  am  wrong — ■ 
I  ought  not  to  grieve  over  a  disappointment,  which  is  a  mere  trifle, 
compared  with  what  others  suffer.  If  you  are  happy,  Edward, 
I  will  be  so  too." 

"  You  are  unintelligible,"  replied  Edward.  "  Where  is  the 
disappointment  you  speak  of?     Is  it  in  my  affection  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no — no — but  pray  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it ; 
it  can  only  be  painful  to  both." 

'•  Nothing  can  be  so  painful  as  reserve  between  those  who 
once  shared  every  thought,"  said  Edward  ;  "  imagination  always 
conjures  up  worse  visions  than  reality." 

"  Not  always," — and  Edith  sighed  deeply. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,  Edith,"  exclaimed  her  brother  impatient- 
ly. "  You  know  me  too  well  to  believe  that  I  can.  If  you  have 
any  complaint  to  make  of  me  or  of  Laura,  I  must  entreat  that 
you  will  speak  openly." 

"  I  have  said  before  that  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,"  re- 
plied Edith,  with  forced  calmness;  "but,  Edward,  you  are  un- 
reasonable to  expect  that  I  can  tell  you  every  thing  I  think  and 
feel,  now,  as  I  did  before  your  marriage.  Our  positions  are 
totally  changed." 

"  They  are   indeed,''  exclaimed   Edward;  "more  so  than  I 


34  GERTRUDE. 


could  have  imagined  possible.  I  am  only  thankful  there  is  stiK 
one  person  in  the  world  who  has  no  mysteries  with  me." 

Edith  turned  away  in  bitterness  of  heart,  and  then,  giving  way 
to  the  hasty  feeling  of  the  moment,  "  If  you  are  satisfied  witr 
your  wife,  Edward,"  she  said,  "  it  is  enough.  Whatever  I  may 
think  can  be  a  matter  of  no  consequence." 

"  But  it  is — it  must  be  a  matter  of  consequence,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  How  can  I  endure  to  see  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own 
life,  misunderstood  and  depreciated  by  those  who  ought  to  love 
and  delight  in  her." 

"  Ought !"  repeated  Edith,  ironically. 

"  Yes,  ought !"  continued  Edward,  "  if  gentleness,  and  tem- 
per, and  grace,  and  all  that  can  make  a  woman  amiable,  are  to 
be  loved  and  admired,  then  Laura  ought  to  have  your  warmest 
affection." 

The  irritable  feelings  working  in  Edith's  mind  were  completely 
roused  by  what  she  saw  to  be  the  blindness  and  error  of  the  as- 
sertion ;  and  forgetting  the  delicacy  of  her  position,  and  the  re- 
spect due  to  her  brother's  feelings,  she  exclaimed  :  "  If  gentleness 
consists  in  being  led  by  no  one  but  Miss  Forester,  and  amiability 
in  wishing  to  turn  old  Martha  out  of  her  cottage,  few  can  give 
Laura  more  credit  than  myself." 

The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  they  were  repented 
of;  but  the  wish  to  efface  their  impression  was  as  vain  as  the 
endeavor  to  recall  them. 

Edward's  face  became  very  pale,  and  his  brows  were  closely 
knit.  He  did  not  trust  himself  with  a  reply  ;  and  making  a 
sudden  leap  over  a  stile  near  him,  walked  with  rapid  strides 
across  the  adjoining  field,  and  Edith  was  left  alone  to  her  medi- 
tations. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


Laura's  glance  at  her  husband,  as  he  entered  the  dressing- 
room  in  which  she  was  resting  after  the  exertion  of  her  unu- 
sually long  walk,  convinced  her  that  something  had  occurred  to 
annoy  him  ;  and  her  conscience  reminded  her  instantly  of  her 
offence,  not  indeed  against  his  commands,  but  against  his 
wishes.  In  general,  she  would  have  risen  with  delight  to  meet 
him,  and  her  book  would  have  been  thrown  aside  without  re- 
gret ;  but  now,  with  a  faint  smile,  she  merely  observed  that  he 
was  quickly  returned,  and  then,  fixing  her  eye  on  the  page  be- 


GERTRUDE.  95 


fore  her,  appeared  engrossed  with  its  contents.  She  was  wrong, 
however,  in  imagining  herself  the  sole  or  even  the  principal  sub- 
ject of  his  angry  feelings.  By  far  the  larger  share  was  bestow- 
ed on  Edith  ;  yet  the  truth  contained  in  the  observation,  that  had 
so  deeply  excited  him,  was  too  evident  to  be  entirely  withstood  ; 
and  although,  while  retracing  his  steps  homeward,  his  quick 
and  varying  thoughts  had  found  ample  cause  for  indignation  at 
his  sister's  unkindness,  their  bitterness  was  increased  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  her  reproach  was  not.  without  foundation.  Blind- 
ly and  devotedly  as  he  loved  his  wife,  Edward  was  still,  in  some 
measure,  alive  to  her  faults  ;  but  there  was  a  wide  difference 
between  an  acknowledgment  made  in  the  secrecy  of  his  own 
heart,  and  Edith's  open  accusation  ;  and  the  faults  which,  from 
their  apparently  trifling  character,  were  allowed,  when  observed 
only  by  himself,  seemed  unjustly  magnified  when  they  excited 
the  attention  of  another.  Resentment  against  his  sister,  there- 
fore, was  the  feeling  uppermost  in  his  mind  ;  and  it  was  one 
which  he  scarcely  endeavored  to  check,  since  it  sprang  from  a 
sense  of  his  wife's  wrongs  rather  than  his  own  ;  and  the  first 
glimpse  of  Laura's  beautiful  features  tended  considerably  to  in- 
crease his  irritation  against  one  who  had  proved  insensible  to 
her  fascination.  For  a  short  time  he  stood  at  the  window,  watch- 
ing her  in  silence  ;  and  at  last,  annoyed  at  the  change  in  her 
manner,  said,  with  something  of  severity — 

'  Your  book  must  be  peculiarly  interesting,  Laura." 
'  Yes  !  it  is — very" — she   replied,   hastily,  and  not  daring  to 
lift  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  A.re  you  tired,  that  you  are  lying  down  ?" 
'  Tired  ]  yes — no — not  particu'arly — only  I  have  been  walk 
ing." 

"  So  I  suppose  :  did  you  go  far?" 

"  Yes — that  is,  not  any  great  distance — I  don't  know  exactly 
what  you  call  far" — and  Laura  gazed  again  upon  her  book  : 
but  her  natural  ingenuousness  overcame  her  timidity,  and 
throwing  down  the  volume,  she  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  said, 
titer  some  hesitation,  "  1  went  with  Miss  Forester  to  see  your 
old  nurse." 

Edward's  features  did  not  relax,  and  his  voice  was  even 
graver  than  before. 

"If  you  had  asked  me,"  he  answered,  "there  would  have 
been  no  occasion  for  Miss  Forester's  services  ;  it  must  have  been 
a  sudden  freak." 

"  You  arc  vexed  with  me,  Edward,"  said  Laura ;  "  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  so  at  once." 

'  There  can  be  no  occasion  for  it,  since  it  is  so  evident.  It 
cannot  be  a  matter  of  surprise  to  you  that  I  am  annoyed  at  your 
preferring  Miss  Forester's  society  to  mine." 


96  GERTRUDE. 


"  Oh,  Edward  !  that  is  unjust — more  than  unjust — it  is  cruel ; 
but  you  do  not  mean  it." 

"  I  merely  reason  from  facts.  You  knew  that  it  was  only  ne- 
cessary to  express  a  wish,  and  I  should  have  been  delighted  to  go 
with  you.  I  have  been  urging  the  visit  for  the  last  three  weeks 
without  success  ;  but  I  must  ask  Miss  Forester  the  secret  of  hex 
eloquence,  when  I  wish  to  gain  my  point  another  time." 

"  This  is  nonsense,  Edward,"  replied  Laura  ;  "  you  are  not 
really  jealous  of  Miss  Forester's  influence,  or  of  any  other  per- 
son's. The  idea  is  too  absurd  to  make  me  angry.  It  would  be 
much  kinder  to  tell  me  plainly  what  is  the  matter." 

"I  leave  it  to  you  to  find  out,"  he  said  ;  "  if  you  are  uncon- 
scious of  having  done  any  thing  against  my  wishes,  of  course  I 
am  mistaken." 

Laura  became  pale,  and  her  voice  was  tremulous  as  she  re- 
plied, "  I  did  not  expect  this  from  you,  Edward.  I  thought  our 
agreement  was  one  of  openness  and  sincerity  on  each  side.  But 
I  will  not  be  the  one  to  forget  it,"  she  continued,  in  a  firmer 
tone  ;  "  I  have  been  wishing  for  something  which  you  desired 
me  not  to  think  of;  I  have  been  longing  to  get  rid  of  the  cottage, 
and  I  have  been  sounding  old  Martha  about  it,  but  I  have  done 
nothing  more  ;  and  I  should  not  have  ventured  even  upon  that, 
if  you  had  not  almost  promised  me  you  would  give  her  a  hint 
yourself.     If  it  is  a  fault,  it  is  one  easily  repaired." 

"Oh,  Laura!"  exclaimed  her  husband,  his  displeasure 
vanishing  before  the  ingenuousness  of  the  avowal :  "  why  will 
you  not  show  yourself  to  every  one  such  as  you  are  to  me  ? 
Why  will  you  give  rise  to  observations  and  misconstructions 
and  cause  me  the  great  pain  I  have  experienced  this  morning  1 
I  felt  Edith  was  harsh,  and  yet  she  said  nothing  but  what  was 
true." 

"  Edith  !"  repeated  Laura,  in  surprise  ;  "your  sister!  I  knew 
she  did  not  love  me,  yet  she  need  not  have  spoken  against  me  to 
my  husband  ;"  and  Laura's  tears  flowed  fast  as  she  spoke. 

"  That  need  not  be  a  cause  of  grief,  dearest,"  replied  Ed- 
ward ;  "  the  whole  world  might  speak  against  you,  without 
causing  the  slightest  shade  of  variation  in  my  love  ;  but  there  is 
something  which  ought  to  pain  yo">  as  it  does  me — that  you 
should  act  in  a  way  to  give  rise  to  any  unkind  observation." 

"But  how — why — what  have  I  done1?"  exclaimed  Laura, 
raising  her  head;  "  why  should  Edith  interfere,  and  make  re- 
marks ]  I  will  confess  to  you,  Edward,  where  I  have  gone  con- 
trary to  your  wishes  ;  and  I  will  bear  any  thing  and  every  thing 
you  may  choose  to  say  ;  but  I  will  never  submit  to  have  my  ac- 
tions commented  on  by  any  other  human  being,  much  less  one 
who  has  shown  me  so  little  kindness  as  Edith." 

"  It  is  what  we  must  all  submit  to."  replied  Edward  ;  "  the 


GERTRUDE.  97 


world,  and  our  relations,  and  our  friends,  will  comment  upon  our 
actions,  whether  we  will  submit  to  it  or  not ;  it  is  vain  to  hope 
♦.hat  we  can  escape  unnoticed  ;  but  nothing  that  is  said  against  us 
can  be  of  any  consequence,  unless  it  is  well  founded/' 

"And  what  did  Edith  say  ?"  asked  Laura,  eagerly. 

"  She  replied  that  you  suffered  yourself  to  be  led  by  Miss  For- 
ester ;  and  she  added  something  about  your  want  of  considera- 
tion for  poor  old  Martha,  which  it  was  most  painful  to  me  to 
listen  to." 

"  And  she  heard  it  from  myself,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  I  said 
a  little  to  her  on  the  subject,  merely  because  she  should  not  give 
me  credit  for  better  motives  than  I  deserved  ;  and  then  she  turn- 
ed my  own  words  against  me,  to  injure  me  in  my  husband's  esti- 
mation.    Is  this  your  pattern  sister,  Edward?" 

"  Not  to  injure  you  in  your  husband's  estimation,"  replied  Ed- 
ward, fondly  ;  "  no  one  can  do  that  but  yourself." 

"  Yet  you  believed  her,  and  felt  angry  with  me." 

"  I  had  reason  to  believe  her.  Miss  Forester's  intimacy  is 
daily  before  my  eyes  ;  and  the  motive  of  your  visit  to  old  Martha 
you  had  acknowledged  yourself." 

"  Miss  Forester  would  never  speak  against  me  behind  my 
back,"  replied  Laura.  "Whatever  her  faults  may  be,  she  will 
not  endeavor  to  make  mischief  between  us  ;  and  as  to  your  old 
nurse,  it  is  absurd  to  make  a  fuss  about  such  a  trifle.  I  merely 
asked  a  few  questions  as  to  whether  she  was  comfortable  in  her 
cottage,  in  order  to  find  out  whether  she  would  be  inclined  to 
move  ;  and  she  was  extremely  ungracious  and  disagreeable,  and 
then  I  went  away." 

"  It  would  have  been  rather  better  to  have  waited,  would  it 
not  ?"  asked  Edward  :  "  I  had  not  forgotten  your  wishes,  and 
went  myself  for  the  same  purpose  ;  and  I  was  much  the  most 
proper  person  to  do  it !" 

"  Perhaps  you  were,"  said  Laura  ;  "  but  you  must  own,  Ed- 
ward, that  it  was  a  very  tiny  fault,  and  extremely  unkind  of 
Edith  to  say  any  thing  to  you  about  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  meant  any  great  harm,  certainly,"  replied 
Edward,  delighted  to  be  relieved  from  the  feeling  of  vexation 
against  her  ;  "  but  you  must  be  more  careful  another  time." 

'  Yes,  believe  me,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  I  will  never  commit 
myself  again.  Since  I  know  how  my  words  are  to  be  turned 
against  me,  I  will  be  more  sparing  of  them.  Your  sister  shall 
not  be  troubled  for  the  future  with  either  my  conversation  or  my 
Bociety." 

"  Hush  !  my  love,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  this  is  not  kind  to  m,\ 
1  he  first  wish  of  my  heart  is  that  you  should  be  loved  and  ohou- 
bhed  by  my  own  family." 

"  Do  not  wish   it,"  said    Laura,  sadly  ;  "  it   will    never  be." 
5 


98  GERTRUDE. 


"  It  must  be,"  replied  her  husband.  "  It  is  impossible  thej 
should  be  insensible  to " 

"To  what?"  asked  Laura,  archly;  "I  like  of  al]  things  to 
hear  my  own  praises." 

Edward  only  answered  by  a  kiss  ;  and  immediately  afterwards 
left  the  room,  with  his  feelings  calmed,  but  with  a  bitter  recol- 
lection of  Edith's  remarks,  and  a  keener  sense  than  ever  of  the 
neglect  shown  to  his  young  wife. 


CHAPTER   XV 


It  is  interesting  and  useful,  though  often  very  painful,  to  retire 
into  ourselves,  after  the  first  tumult  of  excited  feelings  has  sub- 
sided, and  consider  the  probable  consequences  of  our  words  and 
actions.  We  may  indeed  frequently  be  mistaken,  and  magnify 
or  diminish  the  importance  of  what  has  occurred  ;  or  look  for- 
ward to  events  that  may  never  happen  ;  but  by  endeavoring  to 
connect  the  past  and  the  future,  we  strengthen  a  habit  of  thought- 
fulness,  and  are  able  to  trace  more  easily  the  secret  sources  ot 
the  sufferings  which  so  frequently  arise,  apparently  from  the  ig- 
norance or  selfishness  of  our  fellow-creatures,  but  in  reality  from 
some  error  in  ourselves.  The  conversation  between  Edith  and 
her  brother  was  not  of  a  nature  to  be  speedily  forgotten  by 
either,  but  the  pain  it  had  occasioned  was  most  acutely  felt 
by  the  former  ;  and  when  she  recurred  to  her  unguarded  expres- 
sions, and  their  probable  effect  upon  Edward's  mind,  all  feeling 
of  displeasure  against  him  or  Laura  gave  way  before  her  own 
self-reproach.  She  would  willingly  have  made  any  sacrifice  to 
efface  the  impression  of  those  few  hasty  words, — for  it  was  easy 
to  foresee  that  they  would  probably  create  a  barrier  which  yeara 
even  might  not  be  able  to  remove ;  and  bitter  was  her  regret  for 
the  weakness  which  had  induced  her  to  yield  to  an  angry  im- 
pulse. It  was  impossible  to  suppose  that  Edward  would  over- 
look and  make  allowances,  for  his  feelings  had  been  wounded 
in  the  tenderest  point.  If  she  attempted  to  be  kinder  than  usual, 
he  might  think  her  insincere  ;  and  if  she  were  cold  as  before,  the 
breach  must  effectually  be  widened.  It  was  Edith's  first  lesson 
in  the  importance  of  words — the  fearful  power  which  we  pos- 
sess of  giving  a  body,  as  it  were,  to  the  thoughts  within  us,  but  a 
oody  which  we  are  unable  to  destroy.  Her  repentance  seemed 
as  if  it  could  be  of  no  avail  in  preventing  the  natural  consequences 
of  her   folly  ;  and    .-lie   looked   forward  with   shame  and  repug- 


GERTRUDE.  99 

nance  to  ihe  next  meeting  with  her  brother  and  sister.  The 
awkwardness,  which  was  equally  felt  by  thorn,  caused  several 
(lavs  to  elapse  before  it  took  place  :  but  having  no  excuse  to  of- 
fer for  not  going  to  the  Priory,  Edward  at  length  prevailed  on 
Laura  to  overcome  her  unwillingness  and  accompany  him,  with 
the  secret  hope  that  Edith  might  be  absent.  His  wish,  however, 
was  not  gratified.  Luncheon  was  rather  later  than  usual  ;  and 
the  footman,  ignorant  of  the  effect  produced  by  his  words,  in- 
formed them  that  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  the  young  ladies  were  in 
the  dining  room. 

'•  Just-  in  time,  my  dear,"  was  Mrs.  Courtenay's  salutation. 
"  We  are  so  glad — I  was  only  that  instant  saying  what  an  age  it 
was  since  you  had  been  here." 

"  It  is  rather  long,"  began  Laura. 

"  Long,  my  love  !  it  seems  a  twelvemonth.  But  I  won't  com- 
plain. Now,  do,  Edith — no,  not  Edith,  she  has  a  toothache,  poor 
child — Jane,  you  can  ring  the  bell.  Johnson  never  will  bring  up 
knives  and  forks  enough." 

"  I  think  there  are  some  more  on  the  side-table,"  said  Jane, 
languidly,  turning  her  head.     '*  Isn't  it  bitterly  cold  to-day  ?" 

"  Not  bitterlv,"  replied  Edward  :  "  rather  bracing  it  is,  cer- 
tainly ;  I  suppose,  Edith,  it  is  the  cold  which  has  given  you  the 
pain  in  your  face." 

Edward  tried  to  be  unconstrained  ;  but  Edith  felt  it  was  an 
effort,  and  her  answer  was  given  in  the  same  tone — 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  ;  but  it  is  not  of  any  consequence." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  say  so!"  exclaimed  her  mother;  "  no- 
body  knows  ;  and  it  is  so  much  better  to  take  things  in  time  :  you 
know  it  may  turn  to  tic  douloureux  any  day." 

••  Is  it  very  bud  !"  inquired  Laura,  feeling  more  grateful  to  a 
toothache  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 

'•  Oh  no,  it  is  a  mere  nothing,"  said  Edith,  in  the  same  re- 
■  ■d  tone  as  before  :   and  she  rose  as  it' to  leave  the  room. 

"  You  are  not  thinking  of  going  out,  of  course,  Edith,"  said 
Charlotte  :  'it  would  be  madness." 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  :  I  ought  to  go  if  I  could,  and  my  face 
is  better  now." 

••A  martyr,  as  usual,"  excl  med  Charlotte;  "what  a  pity 
it  is  that  you  hail  not  lived  in  Queen  Mary's  reign  !  1  don't 
know  any  one  who  would  have  made  a  better  figure  at  the 
Btaki 

"You  would  not  be  so  foolish,  Edith,"  said  Edward;  "no- 
thing is  more  likely  to  make  you  worse  than  this  northeast  wind 

It  is  not  lit  for  you  to  venture  out." 

"That  is  right,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay;  "do 
try  your  influence  ;  nobody  has  bo  much  ;  I  often  say  that  you 
have  more  power  over  Edith  than  all  the  world  besidi 


100  GERTRUDE. 


"  Had  more  power,  you  should  say,"  replied  Edward,  with  a 
quiet  emphasis,  understood  only  by  two  of  the  party. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  that,  my  dear,  except,  per 
haps,  that  now  you  are  married,  there  are  two  persons  for  Edith 
to  listen  to,  instead  of  one.     Laura,  I  wish  you  would  say  some- 
thing ;  Edith  observed  only  the   other  day  that  you  never  set 
your  heart  upon  doing  any  thing  without  accomplishing  it." 

The  color  mounted  to  Laura's  cheek,  and  after  a  moment's 
pause,  she  said  coldly — 

"  I  could  not  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  suppose "  the  end 

of  the  sentence  was  lost,  for  the  speaker  took  up  a  glass  of  water, 
being  apparently  seized  with  a  violent  thirst. 

"  1  don't  know  what  you  all  mean,"  said  Jane,  as  she  moved 
her  chair  from  the  fire  to  discover  the  cause  of  the  silence  ; 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  remarkably  polite  to  each  other  ; 
so  polite  that  one  could  almost  fancy  we  were  on  the  point  of  be- 
ing otherwise." 

"  I  am  the  cause,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Edith  ;  "  but  I  very  much 
wish  no  one  would  trouble  themselves  about  me  ;  I  shall  do  ex- 
tremely well  ;  and  really  I  must  go." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  sighed  and  looked  resigned,  and  Charlotte 
coughed  and  looked  provoked. 

"  You  may  take  the  club-book  with  you,  if  you  will  go,"  she 
said  ;  "  we  shall  have  to  pay  a  fine  as  it  is." 

"  I  have  not  finished  it  yet,"  replied  Edith ;  "  one  day  will  not 
make  much  difference." 

"  Why  not  stay  at  home,  then,  and  do  it  now  ?  It  would  bo 
much  better." 

"  No,  I  don't  feel  that  I  could  attend  ;  and  indeed  I  never  can 
understand  heavy  books,  except  at  night." 

"  But  you  do  not  mean,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  with  a 
start  of  horror,  "  that  you  ever  set  up  at  night,  reading  ]" 

"  Oh  yes,  frequently,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  but  there  is  no  fear, 
I  assure  you  ;  I  am  extremely  careful." 

"  It  is  very  well  to  talk,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay,  with  a 
degree  of  energy  unusual  to  her  ;  "  we  shall  be  burned,  I  know 
W3  shall  :   it  is  in  the  family." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  in  which  Edith  could  not  help 
joining.  But  Mrs.  Courtenay  did  not  at  all  understand  the  cause 
of  the  amusement,  and  immediately  began  citing  cases  to  prove 
the  correctness  of  her  assertion. 

"  My  dear  Edward,  you  must  remember  old  S'r  Lionel 
Courtenay,  in  Henry  VIII. 's  time, — he  was  burned  at  the  stake. 
And  there  was  his  grandson,  in  Queen  Mary's  ;  and  your  two 
little  cousins,  last  year,  in  Kent.  So,  Edith,  I  must  beg 
you  won't  read  any  more  by  candle-light.  You  know  quite 
enough." 


GERTRUDE.  10) 


"  At  all  events,"  said  Edith,  smiling ;  "  I  don't  think  I  car 
.ake  the  club-book  ;  it  is  so  large." 

'•  We  might  drive  her  to  Elsham,"  said  Laura  to  her  husband 
in  a  low  voice. 

Edward  hesitated.  The  tone  of  his  family  had  seldom  struct 
him  so  forcibly,  and  he  was  not  inclined  for  Edith's  company. 
Laura,  however,  repeated  the  suggestion,  and  finding  that  he  did 
not  object,  followed  Edith  to  make  her  the  offer. 

It  was  decidedly  refused  ;  and  Laura  felt  as  if  her  overtures 
of  peace  had  been  rejected.  Yet  Edith's  manner,  cold  and 
constrained  as  it  seemed,  was  by  no  means  an  index  to  her 
heart.  She  was  fully  conscious  of  her  own  ungraciousness  ; 
and  if  Laura  had  been  in  the  wrong  instead  of  herself,  she 
would  have  been  the  first  to  make  an  advance  towards  a  recon- 
ciliation. But  now,  unable  to  conquer  the  feeling  of  shyness 
arising  from  self-reproach,  she  hurried  away  to  her  own  room, 
and  the  estrangement  between  the  sisters-in-law  was  completed. 
Laura,  piqued  and  disappointed,  returned  to  the  dining-room, 
resolving  never  again  to  attempt  being  on  any  terms  with  Edith 
but  those  of  politeness — a  resolution  which  her  good  nature 
would,  under  other  circumstances,  have  made  it  rather  difficult 
to  keep.  For  some  time,  indeed,  she  refrained  from  visiting  the 
Priory  more  frequently  than  was  absolutely  necessary ;  and 
when  in  Edith's  company,  avoided  any  conversation  with  her. 
But  the  first  irritation  of  feeling  by  degrees  subsided  ;  and  with 
;i  disposition  incapable  of  long  retaining  the  sense  of  injury,  she 
might  easily  have  been  won  over  to  cordiality,  if  Edith  had  only 
known  how  to  redeem  her  past  mistakes.  But  of  this,  unfortu- 
nately, she  was  ignorant.  Though  freely  acknowledging  her 
fault  in  the  one  instance  which  had  openly  separated  them,  she 
was  not  aware  that  a  fundamental  error  lay  at  the  root  of  all 
her  actions — the  belief  that  family  duties  are  of  secondary  im- 
portance ;  and  the  result  was,  a  continued  series  of  petty  neg- 
lects, which  Laura's  quick  perception,  and  hasty  though  gener- 
ous temper,  could  not  fail  to  resent.  The  breach,  however,  was 
not  perceptible  to  the  world  in  general,  and  scarcely  even  at  the 
Priory.  Mrs.  Courtenay  seldom  noticed  any  thing  but  the 
changes  of  the  weather ;  Jane  was  engrossed  with  her  mala- 
dies ;  and  Charlotte  only  thought  that  Edith,  as  usual,  made 
terself  disagreeable,  and  was  not  surprised  that  Laura  cared  so 
ittle  for  her  society. 


102 


GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


There  were,  however,  two  persons  whose  interest  in  Ailing- 
ham  and  the  Priory  rendered  them  fully  alive  to  the  clouds 
which  so  frequently  obscured  the  domestic  sunshine — Mist  For- 
ester and  Mr.  Dacre.  The  former,  in  pursuance  of  her  object 
of  becoming  useful  and  agreeable  to  Laura,  was  peculiarly  ob- 
servant of  the  influence  of  others  ;  and  was  not  sorry  to  perceive 
the  numerous  indications  of  indifference  and  reserve  which  every 
day  afforded,  especially  when  it  gave  her  an  opportunity  of 
civilly  making  some  remark  to  Edith's  disadvantage,  and  thus 
venting  her  spleen  asjainst  the  only  person  whom  she  consid- 
ered likely  to  rival  herself  in  her  uncle's  regard.  The  sources 
of  Mr.  Dacre's  interest  were  less  simple.  A  worn-out,  solitary 
invalid — solitary,  not  so  much  from  the  absence  of  outward 
friends,  as  from  the  isolation  of  mind  attendant  upon  a  grief  too 
sacred  to  be  told  to  any  human  ear,  he  had  consented  to  remain 
at  the  Grange  long  after  the  period  fixed  for  the  termination  of 
his  visit,  not  because  he  was  pleased  with  Miss  Forester's  flat- 
teries, or  gratified  with  the  General's  attentions,  but  from  the 
powerful  charm  attached  to  the  place  where  he  had  originally 
become  acquainted  with  the  wife  he  had  so  tenderly  loved.  It 
was  at  the  Grange  that  they  had  first  met — in  its  neighborhood 
that  they  had  enjoyed  those  opportunities  of  intimate  acquaint- 
ance which  first  inspired  a  mutual  regard,  and  then  ripened  it 
into  love  ;  and  it  was  in  the  parish  church  of  Elsham  that  they 
had  knelt,  side  by  side,  before  the  altar,  and  in  the  presence  of 
God  exchanged  those  vows  which  death  alone  could  sever. 

Years  passed  away  after  that  sunny  time,  and  care,  and  sick- 
ness, and  sorrow,  and  the  deep  yearning  of  the  stranger's  heart 
in  a  foreign  land  for  its  native  home,  were  bitterly  felt  by  both  ; 
but  no  circumstances,  however  untoward,  could  weaken  an 
affection  based  upon  principles  of  piety  and  mutual  reverence  ; 
itid  when,  after  a  union  of  thirty  years,  Mrs.  Dacre  sank  into 
her  grave  under  the  influence  of  a  lingering,  painful  disease,  the 
stunning  effects  of  so  bitter  a  trial  produced  an  effect  upon  her 
husband's  health  which  his  constitution  never  afterwards  recov- 
ered. Had  his  two  children  lived,  Mr.  Dacre's  sufferings  would, 
however,  have  been  comparatively  light;  for  a  mind  like  his 
could  not  long  permit  sorrow  to  interfere  with  the  duties  of  life, 


GERTRUDE.  103 


and  the  necessity  of  exerting-  himself  for  their  sake  would  pro 
bably  in  time  have  diverted  his  thoughts  from  the  one  all-en- 
grossing remembrance.  But  they  also  were  taken  from  him. 
Within  a  few  months  of  each  other  they  were  laid  by  their 
mother's  side  ;  and  their  father,  his  health  completely  shattered 
by  this  fresh  blow,  was  compelled  to  return  to  England,  as  th< 
last  hope  of  preserving  an  existence  which,  at  the  first  moment 
of  his  loss,  seemed  scarcely  of  consequence  to  any  human 
being.  But  the  sorrow  of  the  Christian,  though  often  great, 
can  never  be  without  alleviations;  and  Mr.  Dacre's  heart  had 
been  too  well  practised  in  submission  when  all  was  prosperous 
around  him,  to  sink  under  the  burden  of  affliction.  As  his  con- 
stitution became  partially  re-established  by  his  native  air,  his 
energy  of  mind  was  again  roused.  The  world  had  lost  its  charm, 
but  it  had  not  lost  its  duties  ;  and  projects  of  usefulness  con- 
tinually suggested  themselves,  to  the  accomplishment  of  which 
his  uncertain  health  appeared  the  only  obstacle.  Day  after  day, 
and  week  after  week,  glided  on,  and  still  his  plans  were  unset- 
tled ;  but  in  that  time  his  original  attachment  to  the  Grange 
and  its  neighborhood  had  strengthened  into  a  deeper  home 
feeling  :  the  resilt  partly  of  habit,  and  partly  of  the  interest  ex- 
cited by  his  acquaintance  with  Edward  Courtenay.  Edith, 
indeed,  was  the  first  to  attract  his  regard,  from  a  fancied  resem- 
blance to  the  daughter  he  had  lost,  and  the  charm  of  a  simple, 
earnest,  intelligent  mind,  bent  upon  the  fulfilment  of  duty,  at 
whatever  sacrifice  of  personal  enjoyment ;  but  Edward's  cha- 
racter, though  in  many  respects  strongly  resembling  his  sister's, 
was  as  yet  so  imperfectly  formed  as  to  awaken  a  sympathy 
deeper,  but  far  more  painful,  which  the  circumstances  of  their 
previous  acquaintance  tended  considerably  to  increase.  They 
had  met  at  a  lawyer's  office  in  London  a  short  time  before 
Edward's  marriage,  when  Mr.  Daere  was  endeavoring  to  ar- 
range some  business  for  a  mutual  friend  ;  and,  in  the  course  of 
their  transactions,  the  condition  of  the  Allingham  estate  was, 
from  necessity,  made  known  to  him,  to  a  much  greater  extent 
than  Edward  desired.  The  information  was  not  then  of  any 
importance,  and  would  probably  soon  have  been  forgotten,  but 
for  bis  visit  at  the  Grange,  and  the  opinions  expressed  every  day 
as  to  the  value  of  Mr.  Courtenay 's  property,  and  the  style  in 
which  he  was  expected  to  live.  Even  then,  until  he  had  gained 
a  more  intimate  knowledge  of  Edward's  disposition,  he  had 
thought  but  little  upon  the  subject,  considering  the  common  be- 
liei  merely  the  gossip  of  a  country  place  ;  but  the  observation 
of  a  few  months  made  him  fear  the  power  of  general  opinion 
over  an  enthusiastic,  unstable  mind. 

Edward    was   not   accused  of  extravagance  ;  he   indulged   in 
no  follies,  and  gave  way  to  no  expensive  habits  ;  but  he  followed 


104  GERTRUDE. 


the  customs  of  society,  and  complied  with  all  that  was  considered 
requisite  lor  his  position  ;  and  when  that  position  was  a  false 
one,  the  consequences  were  not  difficult  to  foresee.  The  world 
said  lhat  Mr.  Courtenay's  estahlishment  ought  to  be  on  a  certain 
scale  ;  Mr.  Courtenay  himself  knew  that  it  was  larger  than  his 
actual  income  would  allow  ;  but  it  was  expected  of  him, — it 
would  appear  strange  to  live  without  it — economy  might  be 
practised  in  less  obvious  points  ;  and  the  butler,  and  coachman, 
and  footman,  and  grooms,  lounged  over  their  nominal  duties, 
and  injured  themselves  by  idleness,  and  their  master  by  waste, 
because  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  appearances.  The  world 
said  that  of  course  Mr.  Courtenay  would  not  part  with  the  splen- 
did hunters,  the  pride  of  the  Colonel's  heart  ;  if  he  did  not  use 
them  himself,  there  would  be  always  some  persons  to  appreciate 
them  ;  and  Edward,  though  caring  nothing  for  field  sports,  and 
even  entertaining  some  doubts  as  to  their  being  entirely  allow- 
able, kept  hunters  for  his  visiters,  and  grooms  for  his  hunters, 
simply  because  he  would  not  acknowledge  that  he  could  not 
afford  it.  The  same  principle  ran  through  every  thing — din- 
ners, equipages,  furniture,  entertainments,  all  were  upon  a  like 
scale ;  and  daily  and  hourly  the  secret  burden  of  anxiety 
pressed  more  heavily  upon  Edward's  heart.  But  its  existence 
was  scarcely  acknowledged  by  himself,  and  perceived  only  by 
Mr.  Dacre.  Similarity  of  taste,  and,  in  a  great  measure,  of  prin- 
ciple, had  quickly  softened  the  recollection  of  their  previous  in- 
terview ;  and  after  the  bridal  visit  Mr.  Dacre  was  a  frequent 
and  welcome  guest  at.  Allingham  :  yet  his  desire  of  being  really 
Edward's  friend  was  not  completely  gratified.  Friendship  ne- 
cessarily implies  confidence,  and  while  Edward  was  acting  a 
part,  even  though  he  persuaded  himself  it  was  a  justifiable  one, 
confidence  was  impossible.  The  subject  too  was  one  of  so  deli- 
cate and  personal  a  nature,  as  to  forbid  all  interference,  except 
from  relations  or  long-tried  friends ;  and  Mr.  Dacre's  only  hope 
rested  upon  Edith.  Laura,  it  was  evident,  either  did  not  know 
the  state  of  her  husband's  affairs,  or,  if  she  did  know,  shared  in 
his  thoughtlessness ;  but  a  few  expressions  dropped  in  the 
course  of  conversation  with  Edith  led  Mr.  Dacre  to  imagine 
that  she,  like  himself,  was  acquainted  with  her  brother's  diffi- 
culties, and  alive  to  his  yielding  character,  and  the  effects  it 
must  in  time  produce.  Here  again,  however,  he  was  disap- 
pointed. From  causes  not  confessed,  but  easily  to  be  conjec- 
tured by  a  mind  of  any  penetration,  a  reserve  had  sprung  up 
between  Edith  and  Edward,  which  effectually  excluded  every 
hope  of  influence  on  her  part ;  and  Mr.  Dacre  was  forced  to 
observe  silently  and  thoughtfully  the  plan  of  life  pursued  at 
Allingham,  with  the  certainty  that  if  must  at  last  end  in  suffer- 
ing, but  without    the   power   of  interposing    a    warning    voico 


GERTRUDE.  105 


against  it.  Yet  this  very  sense  of  inability  served  perhaps  to 
increase  his  interest.  It  is  with  a  kind  of  painful  fascination 
that  a  good  mind  notices  the  dawning  of  sorrow  upon  the  youn" 
and  inexperienced.  There  is  the  wish  to  save,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  vanity  of  human  efforts ;  the  affection  that 
would  prompt  the  breaking  down  of  the  harriers  of  custom,  and 
the  fear  lest  a  hasty  action,  or  an  ill-timed  word,  may  defeat 
the  purest  intentions.  To  speak  or  to  be  silent  seems  equally 
dangerous ;  and  the  spirit  thus  endowed  with  the  fatal  gift  of 
prophecy  can  but  watch  anxiously,  and  pray  earnestly,  and 
strive  to  learn  the  lesson  of  patient  trust,  which  God  would  teacb 
us  all  from  the  miseries  we  see,  but  may  not  relieve. 

So  at  least  felt  Mr.  Dacre,  and  his  wish  to  remain  at  Elshani 
became  every  day  more  fixed.  The  world  was  before  him,  and 
in  his  youth  he  would  have  delighted  in  travelling ;  but  even  if 
his  health  had  permitted  it,  the  knowledge  that  there  was  no 
one  now  to  share  his  pleasure  would  have  effectually  destroyed 
the  inclination.  He  had  no  near  relations — none  who,  from  being 
friendless  and  unprovided  for,  claimed  his  attention.  Elsham 
had  been  his  home  for  the  happiest  period  of  his  life,  and  no 
other  place  seemed  so  likely  to  sooth  him  in  his  present  loneli- 
ness. Miss  Forester  and  her  father  indeed  were  not  congenial, 
but  in  his  own  house  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  their  con- 
stant society ;  while  the  footing  of  intimacy  on  which  he  was 
placed  both  at  Allingham  and  the  Priory  afforded  him  resources 
in  his  solitary  hours  which  he  could  not  be  equally  certain  of 
finding  in  any  other  situation,  and  might,  if  he  remained  in  the 
neighborhood,  offer  some  occasion  of  guarding  Edward  against 
the  danger  he  was  incurring. 

So  many  considerations  were  not  long  in  producing  results. 
As  the  Elsham  world  had  long  ago  decided  must  be  the  case, 
Mr.  Dacre  determined  upon  taking  a  house;  but  wonder  and 
disappointment  were  in  no  small  degree  excited  when  his  in- 
tended residence  was  made  known.  The  village  doctor  over- 
looked his  numerous  engagements  as  he  discussed  the  motives 
that  could  induce  a  man  of  Mr.  Dacre's  wealth  to  be  content 
with  so  humble  a  dwelling.  The  lawyer  rested  his  pen  upon 
his  de.sk,  and  philosophized  upon  the  falsity  of  common  report, 
:mcl  the  certainty  that  Indian  fortunes  were  always  exaggerated. 
The  coachmen  and  grooms  of  the  different  establishments 
pronounced  that  Mr.  Dacre  could  be  no  gentleman;  a  rich 
gentleman  with  only  one  riding  horse  was  a  thing  never  heard 
of.  The  elderly  ladies  assembled  around  the  whist-table  forgot 
to  mark  tricks  and  count  honors  while  comparing  notes  in  loud 
whispers  upon  the  fact  of  their  new  neighbor  being  a  shocking 
miser:  and  the  ladies'  maids  received  but  a  gentle  reprimand, 
ilthough  guilty  of  misplacing  a  ringlet,  or   producing  a  wrong 


10G  GERTRUDE. 


dress,  from  the  eagerness  with  which  they  repeated  to  then 
young  mistresses  the  innumerable  stories  of  the  nabob's  oddi- 
ties. And  during  this  time  the  object  of  so  much  interest,  the 
observed  of  all  observers,  with  calm  indifference  pursued  his 
own  path — settled  himself  in  his  cottage — furnished  his  little 
library  with  books — cared  studiously  for  the  comfort  of  the  friends 
who  might  visit  him — and  showed  himself  fully  sensible  of  the 
charms°of  order  and  even  of  elegance,  when  it  was  to  be  enjoyed 
with  others  ;  but  made  no  preparations  for  personal  gratification 
beyond  those  which  age  and  infirmity  imperatively  required. 
And  why  1  Why,  when  the  drawing-room  and  library  were  so 
stored  with  all  that  might  minister  to  ease  and  innocent  amuse- 
ment, was  Mr.  Dacre's  private  study  so  simple,  even  homely, 
in  its  appearance  ]  Why  were  there  no  damask  couches,  no 
soft-cushioned  chairs,  none  of  the  apparatus  of  luxury  which  are 
considered  the  necessary  appendages  of  wealth  1  Why,  when 
the  only  spare  room  the  little  cottage  afforded  was  a  model  of 
refinement,  was  the  chamber  of  its  owner  so  perfectly  unadorned  ? 
It  was  a  question  only  to  be  answered  by  those  who  could  have 
watched  the  secret  principle  of  Mr.  Dacre's  life — who  could  have 
seen  him  in  his  hours  of  devotion,  in  his  moments  of  suffering 
and  trial,  and  heard  the  warning  voice  forever  sounding  in  his 
ears — "  how  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  1"  From  the  period  when  prosperity  first 
assailed  him  with  its  temptations,  this  difficulty  was  never  absent 
from  his  mind.  He  noticed  the  progress  of  others  from  toil  to 
ease  ;  from  ease  to  luxury  ;  from  luxury  to  selfishness  and  for- 
getfulness;  and  his  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  told  him  that 
such  might  too  probably  be  his  own  course.  The  gradations 
were  so  gradual  as  not  to  be  perceptible  ;  the  excuses  so  plausi- 
ble as  scarcely  to  be  withstood.  Society  and  friends  ,  the  noble 
and  the  mean ;  the  prince  and  the  beggar,  alike  have  claims 
upon  the  expenditure  of  the  rich  man.  To  cut  ourselves  off 
from  every  thing  that  may  be  deemed  a  superfluity,  and  rigor- 
ously to  insist  upon  "  giving  to  nature  no  more  than  nature 
needs,"  seems  a  disregard  of  the  intentions  of  Providence,  and 
a  faithless  fear  lest  evil  should  lurk  under  every  occasion  of  en- 
joyment. Mr.  Dacre  saw  and  felt  this.  He  did  not  shut  his 
eyes  to  the  requirements  of  society  and  his  family :  but  without 
any  obtrusive  singularity,  he  nevertheless  persisted  in  the 
practice  of  strict  self-denial,  for  the  very  reason  which  would 
have  induced  others  to  give  way  to  self-indulgence.  Because 
his  means  of  gratileation  were  ample,  he  guarded  against  yield- 
ing to  his  own  inclinations ;  and  while  his  house,  and  his  tables, 
and  his  equipage  were  in  accordance  with  his  station  in  the 
world,  he  himself,  even  in  India — the  land  of  indolence  and  ease 
■ — pursued  in  secret  a  course  of  life  which  by  many  would  have 


GERTRUDE.  107 


been  considered  one  of  severe  mortification.  The  apparent 
inconsistency  might  have  surprised  yet  wiser  persons  than  the 
gossips  and  newsmongers  of  Elsham  ;  especially  "when  it  was 
known  that  Mr.  Dacre's  charities,  although  extensive,  were  not 
such  as  obviously  to  demand  any  unusual  economy.  He  sub- 
scribed freely  to  the  schools,  gave  largely  to  the  offertory,  and 
was  foremost  in  providing  for  the  necessities  of  the  poor,  but  he 
by  no  means  relieved  his  neighbors  from  the  obligation  of  con- 
tributing their  share  also.  With  benevolence  which,  after  a 
short  experience,  no  one  could  doubt,  he  still  kept  within  such 
limits,  that  none  could  plead  the  munificence  of  the  rich  Indian 
as  an  excuse  for  their  own  selfishness.  That  thde  must  be  a 
considerable  surplus,  even  after  every  possible  expense  had  been 
taken  into  calculation,  was  decided  ;  and  how  was  it  appropri 
ated  <  Was  it  stored  up  for  his  heir-at-law — a  distant  cousin,- 
himself  the  owner  of  a  considerable  estate  1  It  was  possible 
but  not  probable  ;  and  the  idea,  when  suggested  at  a  tea  part} 
in  Elsham,  was  almost  immediately  rejected.  Was  it  to  be 
an  inheritance  for  Miss  Forester?  The  notion  was  plausible, 
but  the  lady  in  question  was  not  sufficiently  a  favorite  in  so- 
ciety for  it  to  be  generally  received.  All  felt  it  was  the  last  way 
in  which  they  should  dispose  of  their  own  money,  and  the  natu- 
ral supposition  was,  that  Mr.  Dacre  shared  the  same  feeling. 
Some  said  he  intended  to  found  a  hospital  ;  others  that  he  was 
wishing  to  endow  almshouses  ;  a  few  declared  that  plans  were 
preparing  for  a  now  church  ;  and  one  or  two,  incapable  of  at- 
tributing liberality  to  their  neighbors  from  being  totally  devoid  of 
it,  themselves,  hinted  that  the  first  idea  was  the  true  one,  and 
that  with  all  his  show  of  generosity  Mr.  Dacre's  disposition  was 
miserly.  Time  and  observation  threw  no  light  upon  the  subject; 
at  the  end  of  six  mouths,  the  Elsham  world  was  still  in  a  state 
of  uncertainty  as  to  the  private  affairs  of  their  wealthy  acquaint- 
ance, and  alter  many  discussions,  finally  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  he  could  not  he  as  rich  as  had  been  reported.  This, 
however,  was  a  mistake.  Mr.  Dacre's  fortune  was  large,  and 
the  chums  upon  it,  according  to  the  usual  standard  of  benevo- 
lence,  were  small  ;  but  the  measure  of  the  world's  charity  is  very 
different  from  that  of  the  Christian's  ;  and  while  India,  with  its 
enormous  heathen  population,  its  fearfu"  ignorance,  and  scantily 
endowed  Church,  stood  before  him  as  tne  land  from  whence  his 
property  was  derived,  there,  could  he  no  limit,  to  the  demand 
upon  his  resources.  English  blindness  and  wickedness  might 
be  great ;  and  the  destitute  state  of  the  Church  a  never-failing 
source  of  regret  ;  but  Providence  points  out  to  all  who  wish  to 
he  so  guided,  the   Hue  objects  for  their  grateful  offerings ;  and 

even  in  those  cases  in  which  we  are  apparently  st  at  liberty 

to  follow  our  own  will,  a,  hearl   earne  tly  benl   upon  obedience 


108  GERTRUDE. 


will  rather  seek  to  discover  the  path  indicated  by  circumstances 
than  to  chalk  out  a  line  of  action  merely  in  accordance  witn  in- 
clination.    India  had  been  the  source  of  Mr.  Dacie's  wraith  ;  and 
o  India  he  desired  it  should  return. 

The  great  interest  excited  even  by  a  rich  widower  in  a  coun- 
try neighborhood,  cannot,  however,  continue  undiminished. — 
Mr.  Dacre's  affairs  were,  at  length,  only  occasionally  canvassed, 
when  some  fresh  eccentricity,  as  it  was  deemed,  or  some  remark- 
able munificence,  again  attracted  observation.  His  health,  too, 
though  a  constant  source  of  suffering  to  himself,  did  not  as  yet 
appear  likely  entirely  to  fail,  and  speculations  as  to  the  ultimate 
disposal  of  his  fortune  were  forgotten  in  admiration  of  his  winter 
charities,  and  his  splendid  presents  to  General  Forester  and  his 
niece.  Yet,  in  the  monotony  of  every-day  life,  his  vicinity  was  felt 
to  be  a  considerable  relief.  There  was  always  something  to  be 
told  about  him, — which  road  he  had  chosen  for  his  walk,  what  visits 
ne  had  paid,  how  he  was  looking,  whether  he  wore  a  great-coat 
— or  some  wonder  to  be  expressed  as  to  why  he  had  not  thought 
proper  to  walk  at  all ;  and  in  the  absence  of  cultivation  of  mind, 
or  business  of  consequence,  these  topics  formed  the  staple  source 
of  conversation  with  the  unoccupied  better  class  of  Elsham  ; 
varied  only  by  similar  remarks  upon  their  other  neighbors,  and 
especially  by  minute  criticisms  upon  the  dress,  manners,  and 
conduct  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Courtenay  of  Allingham. 

Laura,  in  the  mean  time,  unsuspicious  of  evil,  and  seeing  no 
indications  of  any  necessity  for  prudence,  felt  no  scruple  in  urg- 
ing upon  her  husband  the  gratification  of  each  wish  as  it  arose. 
Expensive  ornaments,  new  carnages,  costly  furniture, — all  were 
successively  thought  of;  when  thought  of  desired  ;  and  when 
desired,  considered  indispensable;  and  Edward,  driving  frv>rn 
his  mind  every  idea  but  that  of  giving  her  pleasure,  persuaded 
himself  that  each  separate  expense  was  so  trifling  as  to  be  of  no 
consequence,  and  though  often  distrustful  of  his  own  conduct  in 
secret,  still  laughed  and  talked,  rode  over  his  farms,  inspected 
his  improvements,  and  formed  plans  of  benevolence  far  beyond 
his  means,  as  energetically  as  if  no  causes  of  uneasiness  lay  be- 
neath his  outward  prosperity.  Edith  looked  on  in  sorrow  ;  but  her 
influence  with  her  brother  was  gone.  He  was  guided  (though 
unknown  to  himself)  solely  by  his  wife  ;  and  she,4n  equal  un- 
consciousness, was  yielding  day  by  day  more  completely  to  the 
soothing  power  of  Miss  Forester's  flatteries ;  and  was  soon  per- 
suaded by  her  that,  as  the  wife  of  Mr.  Courtenay  of  Allingham, 
it  was  absolutely  requisite  she  should  be  surrounded  with  every 
luxury  which  selfishness  and  indolence  could  devise.  And  to 
the  outward  eye  there  was  no  change  for  many  months  ;  but 
there  is  One  who  "  seeth  not  as  man  seeth,"  and  before  whom 
each  day,  as   it  passes,  registers  the  growth,  either  for  good  or 


GERTRUDE.  109 


evil,  of  the  inner  man  ;  and  if  Edward  Courtenay  had  compared 
the  state  of  his  mind  half  a  year  after  his  marriage,  with  that 
which  he  had  helieved  it  to  be  when  he  made  his  offer  to  Laura, 
he  must  have  been  aware  of  his  own  religious  declension  :  but 
the  variations  from  week  to  week  were  as  unnoticed  as  from 
hour  to  hour,  and  even  the  symptoms  which  might  naturally  have 
awakened  distrust  were  disregarded.  Perhaps,  among  the  chief 
of  these,  was  the  constant  recurrence  of  one  small  wish, — the 
same  which  he  had  once  endeavored  to  check  in  his  wife.  Each 
morning,  as  Laura  seated  herself  in  the  drawing-room,  Edward 
recollected  the  pleasure  he  had  felt  in  preparing  the  morning- 
room,  and  sighed  over  her  disappointment.  Sometimes  he  ac- 
cused Laura  of  fastidiousness,  and  sometimes  quarrelled  with  old 
Martha  for  pertinacity  ;  and  the  cottage  at  length  became  an 
eye-sore  to  him,  and  lie  would  go  considerably  out  of  his  way  to 
avoid  it,  unless,  as  was  frequently  the  case,  he  visited  it  under 
pretence  of  kindness,  but  with  the  real  though  secret  intention 
of  making  another  effort  to  gain  his  point. 

His  frequent  allusions  to  the  possibility  of  a  change  did  not  fail 
to  excite  old  Martha's  suspicions.  She  complained  to  Edith  ; 
but,  believing  it  impossible  that  Edward  could  ever  think  of 
breaking  his  word,  and  not  daring  to  approach  the  subject  with 
him,  Edith  tried  to  persuade  her  that  she  was  fanciful.  The 
impression,  however,  on  the  old  woman's  mind,  weakened  as  she 
was  by  age,  was  too  strong  to  be  overcome  ;  and  it  was  not 
without  foundation.  Edward  did  at  length  firmly  resolve  to  effect 
his  purpose  ;  he  determined  to  gratify  both  himself  and  Laura 
by  insisting  upon  Martha's  agreeing  to  his  wishes,  in  return  for 
the  many  kindnesses  she  had  so  long  been  in  the  habit  of  re- 
ceiving. He  even  fixed  upon  the  cottage  to  which  she  was  to 
remove,  and  planned  the  particular  steps  which  it  would  be  ne- 
cessary to  take  ;  but  the  opportunity  of  effecting  his  object  was 
never  afforded  him.  Some  unguarded  expressions  used  by  him, 
so  worked  upon  the  poor  old  woman's  enfeebled  mind,  and  so  in- 
creased her  dread  of  being  forced  into  compliance,  that  her 
strength  and  spirits  gave  way  ;  and  when  Edward  went  to  her 
with  the  intention  of  acting  upon  his  selfish  resolution,  he  found 
her  incapable  of  listening  to  him.  The  cause  of  her  illness  he 
did  not  suspect;  and  without  noticing  the  secret  feeling  of  satis- 
faction which  arose  in  his  mind,  he  believed,  as  he  gave  orders 
for  every  thing  to  be  provided  for  her  comfort,  that  he  was  obey- 
ing the  dictates  of  a  benevolent  heart. 

Apparently  he  was  unpunished  for  bis  conduct,  and  so  was 
Laura  ;  but  the  consequences  of  our  sins  are  not  the  less  certain 
because  they  are  long  delayed,  and  in  the  blindness  of  our  rea- 
son we  cannot  discover  the  connection  between  causes  and  ef- 
fects.    If  Edward  had  strenuously  resisted  this  temptation  from 


110  GERTRUDE. 


the  first  moment  when  it  assailed  him, — if  ;ehad  never  givei 
Laura  reason  to  suppose  that  he  would  yield  to  her  wishes,  ever 
against  his  own  knowledge  of  right,  the  breach  between  himself 
and  Edith,  the  source  of  so  much  unhappiness,  and  such  future 
trials,  might  never  have  taken  place  ;  his  moral  principle  would 
have  been  strengthened,  and  his  conscience  have  become  more 
sensitive  to  the  approach  of  evil  in  any  other  shape.  But  his 
resistance  had  been  only  in  words.  Immediately  after  caution- 
ing Laura  against  wishes,  he  had  acted  against  his  own  convic- 
tions, and  so  he  had  continued  ;  not,  as  in  other  instances,  from 
impulse  and  weakness,  but  wilfully  ;  and  the  injury  to  his  moial 
character  could  only  be  estimated  by  future  trials.  It  is  a  fear- 
ful mistake  to  believe  that  because  our  wishes  are  not  accom- 
plished they  can  do  no  harm. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  Is  Edward  at  home,  Laura  ?"  asked   Edith,  as  she  walked 
nto  the   drawing-room  at  Allingham,  one   morning,  soon   alter 
breakfast. 

"  At  home  1  yes,  he  is,  but  he  is  engaged  :  do  you  want  to  see 
him  particularly  ?" 

"  He  told  me  to  let  him  know  when  any  thing  was  settled 
about  a  girl  to  wait  upon  old  Martha  ;  and  Mr.  Dacre  has  been 
proposing  a  niece  of  his  housekeeper's.  He  is  coming  here  him- 
self presently.  1  left  him  in  the  road  talking  to  General  Fores- 
ter." 

"  I  don't  think  Edward  can  attend  to  you  very  well,  just  now," 
said  Laura.  "  He  is  busy  making  a  plan  for  taking  in  the  con- 
servatory." 

Edith  appeared  distressed,  though  not  surprised.  She  sel- 
dom came  to  Allingham  without  finding  some  alterations  either 
proposed  or  commenced  ;  and  before  she  could  reply,  Edward 
entered  the  room. 

"  Will  this  do  ]  Laura,"  he  said,  after  he  had  spoken  a  few 
words  to  his  sister  ;  "  it  looks  pretty  well  on  paper,  I  think." 

"  Oh  !  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  and  you  will  begin  abou 
■t  at  once." 

"  I  dou't  know  as  to  that ;  one  must  consider  expense  a  lit 
tie." 

"  For  such  a  trifle  1  why  it  will  not  cost  fifty  pounds." 

"  Nearer  a  hundred." 


GERTRUDE.  11 


"Or  two,"  said  Edith,  gravely;  the  next  minute  repenting  of 
(laving  interfered. — "  Can  you  attend  to  me,  Edward  ?" 

"  Wait  one  minute.     You  see,  Laura,  it  will  be  very  well  if 
we  can  manage  about   the  wall  ;  but   it  won't  do  to  endanger 
any  other  part°of  the  house ;  so  I  should  like  to  have  a  mason' 
opinion." 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and   Mr.  Dacre  was  announced 
Edward  was  going  to  put  his  drawing  aside,  but  Laura  took  it. 

"  I  must  have  Mr.  Dacre's  opinion,"  she  said,  as  she  ad- 
vanced to  shake  hands.  "  Won't  this  be  an  immense  improve- 
ment to  our  room  I  We  are  thinking  of  opening  it  into  the  con- 
servatory."   - 

"  Extremely  pretty,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  not  quite  equal 
lo  this  though  ;"  and"  he  pointed  to  a  splendid  design  for  Torring- 
ton  church,  which  lay  on  the  table. 

"  Oh  !  that,"  replied  Edward,  hesitatingly — "  it  is  only  a  plan  : 
to  realize  it  would  require  thousands;  therefore  it  can  be  but  a 
matter  of  amusement." 

"  Even  in  that  way  it  must  be  a  great  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Da- 
cre ;  "  but  I  doubt  if  it  would  be  quite  satisfactory." 

"  Why  not  V 

"  Merely  because  it  is  an  amusement,  and  unreal." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  otherwise,  when  it  is  so  much  be- 
yond my  means." 

"  The  thing  one  feels  in  these  cases,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  is  a 
distrust  of  one's  self;  at  least  I  know  I  used  to  have  it  as  a 
young  man." 

••  Were  you  given  to  day-dreams  then  V  said  Edward. 

■•  Yes,  constantly  ;  audi  can  remember  now  the  pleasure  of 
patting  by  the  first  five-pound  note  towards  the  fifteen  hundred 
which  I  once  wanted." 

"  Oli  !  Mr.  Dacre,"  exclaimed  Laura,  laughing  ;  "  I  see  you 
arc  an  enemy  in  disguise.  If  I  let  Edward  talk  to  you  much 
longer,  I  may  say  good-by  to  the  conservatory." 

"  it  is  more  a  case  of  feeling  than  any  thing  else,"  said  Ed- 
ward ;  "  I  shonld  not  suppose  myself  at  all  nearer  my  object  bc- 
cause  I  had  advanced  a  snail's  step  towards  it." 

'•  Very  likely,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  in  an  indifferent  tone  :  "but 
Bometimes  one  is  glad  of  an  earnest  of  one's  own  sincerity;" 
and  turning  from  the  subject,  he  began  talking  about  old  Mar- 
tha. A  few  arrangements  were  to  be  made  for  the  girl  who 
to  live  with  ber ;  and  Edward  entered  into  the  most  minute 
details,  though  Mr.  Dacre  seemed  to  think  it  more  a  lady's 
province,  and  proposed  that  it  should  be  lefl  to  Edith  to  settle. 
He  did  not  know  that  Edward's  present  consideration  was  a 
lalve  i"  his  conscience.  Edith  listened,  bul  finding  that  Bhe  was 
not  of  much   use,  soon  proposed  going;  and  was  just  wishing 


112  GERTRUDE. 


Laura  good-by,  when  Mr.  Dacre  stopped  her.  There  waa 
something  pointed  in  the  way  in  which  he  asked  her  to  wait, 
and  allow  him  to  walk  home  with  her ;  and  she  fancied,  as  she 
had  done  once  or  twice  before  in  the  course  of  the  conversalion, 
that  he  looked  restless  and  disturbed,  which  for  him  was  very 
unusual,  and  after  a  little  more  conversation  he  took  his  leave. 
Whatever  his  motive  might  have  been  for  desiring  Edith's  so- 
ciety,  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  take  advantage  of  it ;  and  nei- 
ther of  them  spoke  till  they  had  walked  some  little  way.  Edith 
was  meditating  upon  the  conversation,  and  at  length  uttering 
her  thoughts  aloud,  said, — 

"  I  can  scarcely  imagine  my  brother  understood  all  you  im- 
plied just  now." 

"  Perhaps  I  did  not  express  myself  clearly.  It  is  such  an  awk- 
ward thing  to  give  opinions  which  appear  like  advice." 

"  You  seemed  afraid  to  press  yours,  at  least,"  said  Edith  ; 
"  but  I  am  sure  they  were  right." 

"  So  am  I,  as  a  general  rule  ;  but  one  does  so  much  harm  by 
being  dogmatical,  especially  when  it  is  not  one's  business.  And 
after  all,  your  brother  may  not  have  the  same  reasons  to  fear 
being  visionary  that  I  had  when  I  was  at  his  age." 

"  That  is  not  likely,"  said  Edith  ;  "  no  day-dreams  can  sur- 
pass his,  I  am  sure ;  and  he  has  no  one  to  warn  him  against 
them." 

Mr.  Dacre  thought  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  rather 
abruptly,  "  Do  you  remember  our  conversation  the  first  day  we 
met  in  the  park,  last  autumn?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith,  "  it  interested  me  too  much  to  be  easily 
forgotten." 

"  We  spoke  of  influence,  I  think,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  it 
is  a  subject  often  in  my  mind." 

"  I  have  no  influence  with  Edward,"  said  Edith,  "  if  that  is 
what  you  would  imply.     Do  you  think  I  havel" 

"  If  I  answer  your  question,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
be  forced  to  obtrude  some  more  opinions." 

"  Not  obtrude,"  replied  Edith,  "  if  you  mean  they  would  not  oe 
acceptable." 

"  Will  you  then  give  me  an  old  man's  privilege,  and  forgive 
me  if  I  say  that  you  ought  to  have  an  influence,  though  it  is  not 
always  evident  that  you  have  1" 

"  It  never  can  be,"  said  Edith.     "  Who  could  rival  Laura  "?" 

"  Who  would  wish  it !  But  I  was  wrong  in  saying  that  you 
had  no  influence,  since  no  human  being  is  without  it.  The  diffi- 
culty is,  to  make  the  best  use  of  it." 

"  Mine  is  so  slight  now,"  said  Edith,  "  it  can  be  of  no  im- 
portance." 

'  You  hold  a  common  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  :  "  but  have 


GERTRUDE.  113 


you  ever  considered  what  we  should  feel  if  we  were  suddenly 
made  to  see  the  effect  of  every  careless  word  and  action  1  I  thini 
we  should  scarcely  say  then  that  we  had  no  influence." 

"  It  Is  a  frightful  thought,"  said  Edith.  "  I  don't  think  I  coulr1 
always  bear  it." 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  our  eyes  are  blinded  in  mercy ; 
but  it  is  well  sometimes  to  realize  the  truth,  though  only  for  an 
instant.  All  that  we  have  once  said  or  done  may  fade  from  the 
memory,  but  it  does  not  therefore  die." 

A  bitter  recollection  flashed  upon  Edith's  mind,  and  she  felt  a8 
if  it  would  be  impossible  to  speak. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  I  was  ac- 
customed to  talk  upon  these  subjects  once  with  my  own  child, 
and  the  habit  is  renewed  unconsciously." 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  "  if  you  would  only  look  upon  me  in, 
the  same  light,  and  tell  me  all  you  think  I  ought  to  do,  I  might 
be  saved  from  many  trials.  I  do  wish, — yes,  most  earnestly  wish 
to  do  right." 

"  Xo  one  who  is  acquainted  with  you  could  for  a  moment 
doubt  it,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  in  a  tone  of  deep  interest.  "  Unfor- 
tunately, I  am  so  circumstanced  as  to  deal  only  in  generalities, 
and  they  are  most  frequently  useless.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  you 
may  influence  your  brother,  but  I  know  that  a  great  power  has 
been  placed  in  your  hands,  as  it  has  been  in  the  hands  of  every 
human  being,  and  that  we  shall  have  to  render  a  most  strict  ac- 
count for  it ;  and  I  own  I  am  very  anxious  to  impress  this  truth 
upon  you." 

"And  why]"  asked  Edith. 

Mr.  Dacre  paused.  "  Are  you  satisfied,"  he  said,  "  that  your 
brother's  life  is  likely  to  be  a  happy  one  !" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Edith,  hastily,  surprised  at  the  question; 
"  do  you  ask  me  because  you  are  afraid  for  him'?" 

"  If  I  were  a  member  of  your  family "  began  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Hut  why  should  you  not  consider  yourself  such  ?"  said  Edith  ; 
"  I  am  sure  we  are  not  common  friends." 

"  So,  I  hope  not.  But  I  may  be  mistaken  ;  and  many  persons 
would  think  me  ridiculous  in  fancying  that  your  brother  is  not 
quite  alive  to  the  expense*  of  his  splendid  establishment." 

Edith  was  silent  from  astonishment  ;  the  remark  implied  a 
knowledge  of  Edward".-;  affairs  which  she  could  not  account  for. 

"  Pray  don't  think  me  impertinent,"  continued  -Mr.  Dacre, 
"  indeed  I  have  reasons  for  what  1  say." 

"1  should  scarcely  have  imagined,"  replied  Edith,  "that  Ed- 
ward's style  of  living  would  be  thought  beyond  what  six  thousand 
a  \  car  permits." 

Mr.  Dacre  felt  pnzzled  ;  he  had  ventured  as  far  as  he  dared, 
Mid  began  to  think  that,  alter  all,  bis  conjectures  must  be  wrong, 


114  GERTRUDE 


and  that   Edith  knew  no  more  of  her  brother's  affairs  than  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

"  A  clear  income  of  six  thousand  a  year  might  possibly  cover 
all  expenses,"  he  said  pointedly. 

Edith  paused  suddenly  in  her  walk.  "  A  clear  income  !"  she 
repeated,  as  she  anxiously  watched  the  expression  of  Mr.  Da- 
cre's  face.     "  Then  do  you  know  1  has  Edward  told " 

"  He  has  not  told  me  any  thing,  my  dear  Miss  Courtenay  ;  but 
our  acquaintance  did  not  commence  at  Allingham.  We  met  once, 
previously  to  his  marriage,  at  a  lawyer's  office  in  London." 

"  And  it  was  there  you  learned  all !"  exclaimed  Edith.  "  Do 
you  know  how  deeply " 

"  I  know  but  few  particulars,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  interrupting 
her ;  "  but  I  certainly  understood  enough  to  convince  me  that 
the  most  prudent  economy  was  required, — and  to  make  me  feel 
frightened  this  morning,  when  General  Forester  told  me  he  was 
going  to  propose  to  your  brother  to  stand  for  the  county  at  the 
expected  dissolution  of  Parliament." 

Poor  Edith  looked  aghast  at  this  announcement. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  alarm  you,"  he  said.  "  Very  probably  youi 
brother  may  not  even  have  the  wish  to  be  in  Parliament." 

"  But  he  has,  I  know,"  exclaimed  Edith  :  "  and  Laura  will 
urge  it  ;  and  Edward  is  so  blinded  by  his  affection  for  her,  he 
will  do  any  thing  to  please  her." 

"  Then  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  she  is  the  most  important 
person  to  influence.  Of  course,  she  knows  more  of  Mr.  Courte- 
nay's  affairs  than  any  one." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Edith,  trying  to  overcome  her  agitation. 
"  It  may  sound  strange,  but  I  am  nearly  certain  she  is  as  igno- 
rant as  every  one  else.  Edward  never  told  any  one  but  me,  and 
then  it  was  with  an  implied  promise  that  I  was  never  to  mention 
the  subject." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but 
at  all  events,  you  can  do  something,  and  you  are  the  only  person. 
As  to  myself,  I  have  taken  now  a  step  which  many  would  con- 
sider an  intolerable  liberty." 

"  Their  feelings  would  be  very  different  from  mine,"  said 
Edith  ;  and  her  sweet  smile  brought  a  fond  remembrance  to  Mr. 
Dacre's  heart  :  "  but  you  don't  know  Laura.  We  are  so  unlike 
in  taste,  and  disposition  ;  and  besides — "  She  stopped,  remem- 
bering that  there  were  other  causes  why  her  sister-in-law  was 
not  likely  to  be  guided  by  any  thing  she  might  say. 

"  There  must  be  some  points  on  which  you  may  meet,  surely," 
replied  Mr.  Dacre. 

"None!"  exclaimed  Edith,  despairingly.  "  Edward  must  tak< 
bis  own  course,  for  I  have  no  power  to  stop  him." 

"  Yet  he  is  vour  brother." 


GERTRUDE.  J  15 


"  Yes,  but  natural  ties  are  slight  when  circumstances  combine 
to  separate  them." 

"Are  they  indeed  slight  1"    said   Mr.   Dacre,  very  gravely 
"  They  are  formed  by  God,  and  what  He  has  joined  together, 
who  may  dare  to  put  asunder  !" 

Edith  looked  bewildered  and  miserable.  "  You  talk  to  me," 
she  said,  "as  if  all  were  in  my  power;  as  if  Edward's  safety 
or  ruin  depended  upon  my  actions ;  and  you  may  be  right, — but 
if  I  were  to  dwell  upon  the  thought,  I  should  be  incapable  of 
doing  any  thing.  Who  will  venture  to  walk  in  darkness,  when 
one  false  step  may  do  such  incalculable  mischief?" 

".May  I  answer  you  in  very  solemn  words]"  replied  Mr. 
Dacre.  "  You  must  remember  where  it  is  said,  'Who  is  among 
vou  that  fearelh  the  Lord,  that  obeyeth  the  voice  of  his  servant, 
that  walketh  in  darkness,  and  hath  no  light;  let  him  trust  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  and  stay  upon  his  God.'  And  is  not  life  all 
darkness !" 

"  It  is  so  now  to  me,"  said  Edith,  with  less  of  calmness  than 
usual. 

"  It  is  so  to  us  all  ;  but  perhaps  you  may  have  sometimes 
watched  a  lamp  let  down  into  one  of  those  deep  wells  which 
centuries  ago  were  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  seen  how,  as  it 
went  down,  it  threw  a  clear  light  immediately  around,  though 
above  and  below  all  was  dark  as  before.  Did  it  ever  strike  you 
as  a  type  of  the  principle  of  faith,  which  gives  us  just  sufficient 
comfort  for  our  hour  of  need,  though  the  past  and  the  future  may 
still  remain  mysteries  V 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  Edith,  "  if  I  could  only  have  some  one 
with  me  always,  to  whom  I  could  talk  freely  !  but  no  person  can 
enter  into  the  difficulties  of  a  family,  except  those  who  live  with 
them  ;  and  if  we  are  doing  wrong,  we  can  have  no  right  to  trust 
to  the  lamp  of  faith." 

'•  And  have  you  really  no  one  to  sympathize  with  you  V  said 
Mr.  Dacre.     "  You  will  not  think  the  question  a  curious  one?" 

"If  Gertrude  were  at  home,"  said  Edith,  "every  thing  would 
be  well.  She  understands  so  much  better  than  I  do  what  ought 
to  I"'  done,  and  she  would  never  give  olFunce." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  but  little  of  her.  She  is  seldom  at  the 
Priory,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  but  her  letters,  and  the  interest  she 
lakes  in  every  thing,  makes  us  feel  as  if  she  lived  among  us. 
Perhaps,  though,  she  could  not  help  me  now,  for  she  has  never 
been  made  acquainted  with  Edward's  affairs ;  and  all  my  feel- 
ings about  his  marriage  were  so  mixed  up  with  anxiety  upon 
this  one  subject,  that  I  have  scarcely  ventured  t<i  allude  to  them, 
.eft  I  should  say  something  which  might  seem  like  a  betrayal  of 


116  GERTRUDE. 


his  confidence.  She  thinks  me  reserved,  I  know  ;  and  I  can 
never  tell  her, — I  feel  it  must  be  left  alone." 

"  Yet  I  must  again  entreat  you  to  do  your  utmost,"  said  Mr. 
Dacre,  "if  you  should  find  your  brother  at  all  inclined  to  lislen 
to  General  Forester.  It  may  be  a  great  temptation,  and  the 
consequences  may  be  of  such  infinite  importance  to  him." 

Edith  sighed  deeply  :  "  I  don't  think  there  is  any  cause  to 
be  afraid,  really,"  she  said,  "  because  the  danger  is  so  evident. 
A  man  cannot  deceive  himself  about  elections  ;  every  one  knows 
they  are  ruinous,  unless  there  is  a  large  fortune  to  support  there  , 
but  the  notion  frightened  me  very  much  at  first." 

Mr.  Dacre's  silence  showed  that  he  was  less  sanguine  as  to 
the  power  of  Edward's  common  sense ;  but  he  had  said  all  that 
he  considered  necessary,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  not  called  on 
to  interfere  farther.  They  parted  at  the  gate  leading  to  old 
Martha's  cottage.  A  tear  glistened  in  Edith's  eye,  and  her 
voice  trembled,  as  she  bade  Mr.  Dacre  good-by.  The  shadow 
of  a  coming  sorrow  was  passing  over  her  mind,  and  Mr.  Dacre 
saw  and  felt  it ;  felt  it  the  more,  that  he  had  been  himself  in  some 
degree  its  cause. 

"  You  will  think  of  me  as  a  friend  who  longs  to  be  of  service 
to  you,"  he  said,  as  he  warmly  pressed  her  hand :  "  and  may  I 
also  remind  you,  that  if  I  am  powerless,  there  is  One  who  can 
guard  you  and  all  you  love  from  harm." 


CHAPTER   XVI II, 


"Jane,  my  dear  Jane,  are  you  both  going  out  this  morning'? 
My  knitting  is  so  tangled,  I  shall  never  put  it  right  again  ;"  and 
Mrs.  Courtenay's  voice  was  rather  more  elevated  than  usual, 
and  not  entirely  free  from  querulousness. 

"  Edith  will  be  at  home  presently,"  replied  Jane,  who  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  prepared  for  a  morning  visit,  and  not 
at  all  inclined  to  delay  the  gratification  of  exhibiting  the  new 
bonnet,  and  scarf  which  had  arrived  from  town  only  the  previous 
evening. 

"  Just  look,  my  dear,"  continued  her  mother  ;  "  here  are  three 
stitches  let  down ;  and  my  eyes  are  so  bad,  I  shall  never  take 
them  up  properly." 

Jane  advanced  slowly  into  the  room,  and  carelessly  surveying 
the  work,  declared  it  to  be  in  such  a  state  that  it  was  better  t« 


GERTRUDE.  117 


begin  it  entirely  afresh  ;  and  as  she  knew  very  little  of  knitting 
it  would  be  foolish  to  undertake  the  task  herself;  and  besides, 
they  should  be  late  for  their  visit,  if  they  did  not  set  off  at  once. 
"Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Charlotte?"  she  exclaimed,  as  hei 
sister  entered. 

"  Oh  !  of  course.  I  don't  know  at  all  what  you  are  talking 
of;  only  I  guess  it  is  something  about  staying  at  home." 

"  It  was  about  my  knitting,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  :  "  Jane 
tells  me  it  must  be  begun  ajrain.  I  wish  Gertrude,  dear  child, 
had  thought  upon  something  easier  ;  but  then  she  did  not  know 
how  you  were  all  occupied." 

"  I  suspect  Gertrude  knows  very  little  of  any  thing  that  any 
one  else  knows,"  exclaimed  Charlotte  ;  "  she  and  Edith  will  do 
admirably  to  go  through  life  together.  My  dear  mamma,  I 
quite  agree  with  Jane,  you  had  much  better  wait  till  Edith 
comes." 

"  So  provoking  it  is  of  Edith,"  said  Jane,  pettishly  ;  "  she  is 
always  out  of  the  way.  This  is  the  fourth  day  we  have  seen 
nothing  of  her  from  breakfast  to  dinner." 

"  She  is  gone  to  see  old  Martha  to-day,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Courtenay  ;  "  so  you  must  not  complain  of  her." 

"I  don't  complain,"  replied  Charlotte  ;  "  the  business  would 
be  hopeless  if  one  once  began  it.  All  I  wish  is,  that  we  lived  in 
a  mud  cottage,  and  went  about  without  shoes  and  stockings,  and 
then  we  might  hope  to  have  a  little  of  Edith's  attention." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work,  and  looked 
at  her  daughter  in  vacant  astonishment.  "  No  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, my  dear, — how  very  dreadful !  Pray  don't  say  so  before 
Edward." 

"  I  would  say  so  before  the  whole  world,"  said  Charlotte, 
laughing :  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  hard  upon  Edith,  but  I  must  say 
she  neglects  home  duties.  Come,  Jane,  we  have  no  time  to 
6pare." 

Jane  quickly  obeyed  the  summons ;  and  Charlotte,  having 
given  her  opinion  upon  Edith's  faults,  went  for  her  walk  with  a 
contented  conscience. 

For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  Mrs.  Courtenay  meditated 
in  silence  and  solitude  upon  the  three  delinquent  stitches ;  and 
then,  finding  the  occupation  slightly  wearisome,  walked  to  the 
window,  sighed  and  yawned,  and  at  last  crept  up  stairs,  to 
.search  in  the  right  hand  corner  of  her  oaken  cabinet  for  a  piece 
of  silk  to  make  a  hag  ;  the  use  of  which  was  not  yet  decided 
upon,  only  bags  were  always  useful.  The  sound  of  Edith's 
voice  disturbed  her,  while  yet  undecided  between  the  different 
claims  of  brown  and  purple  ;  and  with  natural  kindness  of  heart, 
she  hastened  to  inquire  for  old  Martha.  Edith  was  looking  tired, 
harassed,   and    ill.     She    had   unexpectedly  again    nut  with  hei 


118  GERTRUDE. 


brother  on  her  way  home,  and  while  Mr.  Dacre's  words  yet 
weighed  heavily  upon  her  mind  ;  and  the  conversation  which 
had"  taken  place  between  them,  instead  of  affording  any  open 
ing  for  attempting  to  warn  him  against  his  danger,  had  been 
short  and  unsatisfactory.  Edward's  thoughts  were  full  of  tha 
splendid  drawing-room  which  was  to  open  upon  the  conservato- 
ry, and  he  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  few  observations  made 
bv  his  sister;  and  Edith  mused  sadly  upon  the  days  that  were 
gone  by,  and  upon  the  barrier  which  a  slight  want  of  consider- 
ation, and  a  few  hasty  words,  had  raised  between  them.  She 
longed  to  speak  as  she  might  once  have  done,  freely  and  open- 
ly— to  tell  him  of  her  fears — to  entreat  him  to  be  on  his  guard ; 
but  it  seemed  impossible.  At  the  period  when  their  confidence 
was  unbroken,  the  task  would  have  been  difficult ;  and  with  their 
present  estrangement,  she  scarcely  dared  hope  that  he  would 
listen  to  her,  even  if  she  had  summoned  up  resolution  to  intro- 
duce the  subject.  Perhaps,  if  she  had  known  all  the  weakness 
of  Edward's  heart,  she  might  have  been  more  inclined  to  excuse 
herself;  but  the  only  remark  he  made  which  at  all  interested 
ner,  showed  thought  and  kindness  for  poor  Martha ;  and  Edith 
olamed  herself  more  than  usual  for  having  ever  said  any  thing 
to  vex  him.  They  were  together  but  a  few  minutes,  for  Edward 
pleaded  Laura's  solitude  as  an  excuse  for  returning  to  the  Park, 
and  Edith  assented  directly ;  and  without  any  expression  of  re- 
gard beyond  a  careless  shake  of  the  hand,  allowed  him  to  de- 
part. And  yet,  at  that  moment,  she  would  have  given  up  all 
that  was  most  valuable  upon  earth, — time,  and  comfort,  and 
health,  and  affluence,  and  scarcely  reckoned  it  a  sacrifice,  to  save 
him  from  suffering. 

With  so  much  to  depress  her,  the  recollection  of  the  absence 
of  sympathy  in  her  home  was  more  painful  than  ever,  and  she 
felt  relieved  on  hearing  that  her  sisters  were  gone  out;  but  Mrs. 
Courtenay  met  her  in  the  hall,  and  assailed  her  with  a  host  of 
rapid,  unimportant  questions,  to  which,  notwithstanding  some 
newly-formed  resolutions  of  respect,  Edith  found  it  difficult  to 
reply  with  temper.  There  was,  however,  no  escaping  from 
them  ;  and  too  weary  to  bear  the  exertion  of  standing,  she  pro- 
posed adjourning  to  the  drawing-room,  and  was  just  entering, 
when  the  appearance  of  Miss  Forester,  stationed  by  the  table, 
with  a  book  in  her  hand,  caused  both  herself  and  her  mother  to 
draw  back  in  surprise. 

"  I  am  afraid  1  startled  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Courtenay.  The 
servant  went  to  let  you  know  I  was  here,  and  in  the  mean  time 
1  have  been  amusing  myself  with  some  of  your  enticing  books. 
Is  this  interesting,  Miss  Courtenay  I"  and  Miss  Forester  held 
out  a  volume  of  Jane's  usual  studies. 

"  Really  I  don't  know,  I  never  read  novels  " 


GERTRUDE.  IIS 


"  Indeed  !  but  I  was  foolish  to  ask  the  question.  I  confess 
myself  a  mere  ordinary  mortal,  so  I  am  not  ashamed  of  doing 
what  every  one  else  does.  But  you  will  have  very  little  time 
for  reading  for  several  months  to  come  ;  canvassing  votes  will 
be  a  sufficient  occupation  for  all  Mr.  Courtenay's  family,  since 
parliament  is  to  be  dissolved  immediately." 

Edith's  countenance  betrayed  her  uneasiness.  Although 
professing  in  her  own  mind  never  to  believe  more  than  one 
half,  at  least,  of  any  news  brought  by  Miss  Forester,  yet  this 
decided  assertion  made  her  almost  fancy  that  every  thing  was 
settled. 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  your  astonishment,"  continued  Miss 
Forester  :  "  it  has  astonished  every  one  ;  but  there  was  a  long 
debate  the  night  before  last — ministers  were  beaten,  and  the  con- 
sequence is  a  resignation,  and  of  course  a  dissolution  ;  so  now  I 
must  congratulate  you.  My  father  says  Mr.  Courtenay  is  certain 
of  success." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  was  breathless  from  astonishment.  Her  eyes 
opened  to  their  fullest  extent,  and,  unable  to  speak,  she  turned  to 
Edith  for  an  explanation. 

"  This  is  the  first  intelligence  my  mother  has  received,"  said 
Edith,  recovering  herself  completely,  and  speaking  in  the  calm, 
dignified  tone  with  which  she  generally  succeeded  in  checking 
Miss  Forester's  friendly  impertinence  ;  "  I  heard  the  report  of 
the  dissolution  from  Mr.  Dacre  just  now." 

Miss  Forester  looked  angry,  as  she  always  did  when  Edith 
mentioned  her  uncle's  name.  "  Indeed  !  I  should  have  imagin- 
ed him  less  communicative.  The  news  has  only  just  arrived. 
It  was  brought  privately  to  my  father,  and  he  set  off  for  Alling- 
ham  instantly." 

'•  Then  the  congratulations  are  rather  premature." 

"  Oh,  no  !  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  Mr.  Courtenay's 
being  returned.  The  feeling  of  the  whole  county  is  in  his  fa- 
vor. My  father  questions  even  whether  Mr.  Vivian  will  oppose 
him.'' 

"But  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  the  principal  point,"  said 
Edith  ;  "  my  brother  must  first  consent  to  stand." 

'"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  he  would  refuse?  But,  no,  I  see 
you  are  only  joking  ;  no  one  could  hesitate  with  such  a  brilliant 
prospect  before  him." 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  1"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  laying  her 
hand  on  Edith's  arm.  "My  dear  Miss  Forester,  what  is  it! 
what  are  they  going  to  do  with  Edward  !" 

"  Nothing,  1  hope,"  said  Edith. 

"  Make  him  a  member  of  parliament,"  replied  Miss  Forester. 

"Well!  yes,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay;  "that  will  he 
quite  right.     The  Allingham  family  always  were  members,  till 


120  GERTRUDE. 


tho  poor  Colonel  died ;  and  then,  you  know,  the  little  boy  was 
too  young." 

"  There  is  very  little  use  in  thinking  upon  the  subject,"  said 
Edith,  coldly,  "  where  the  only  foundation  tor  the  idea  is  report." 

"  There  I  shall  beg  to  differ  from  you.  All  that  I  say  comes 
from  the  very  highest  authority  ; — and  here  are  your  sisters  :  1 
must  see  if  they  are  equally  unbelieving." 

"  Unbelieving  about  what  1"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  as  she 
shook  hands  ;  "  my  creed  is  unbelief;  so  I  can  give  you  but  little 
hope." 

"  I  merely  wish  you  to  believe  in  the  fact,  that  parliament  is 
about  to  be  dissolved  immediately,  and  that,  as  a  necessary  con- 
sequence, your  brother  will  be  member  for  the  county  in  the 
room  of  Mr.  Vivian." 

"  The  first  proposition  admits  of  no  doubt,  since  you  are  the 
person  to  vouch  for  it ;  the  second what  do  you  say,  Edith  *" 

"  Your  sister  denies  the  possibility  entirely,"  said  Miss  For- 
ester, "  though  she  has  not  informed  me  upon  what  grounds. 
But  you  do  not  seem  at  all  surprised  :  had  you  heard  the  news 
before  1" 

"  A  rumor  as  to  the  resignation  of  ministers  reached  us  when 
we  were  paying  our  last  visit,  but  I  did  not  give  any  particular 
attention  to  it :  nothing  was  said  about  Edward." 

"  Hut  don't  you  agree  with  me  ?" 

"  Certainly,  as  to  the  fact  that  he  will  stand  :  it  is  just  the 
foolish  thing  he  would  do.     Success  is  another  question." 

"  Why  should  you  say  he  will  do  it,  if  it  is  foolish,  Charlotte  V 
said  Edith,  still  unable  to  endure  patiently  any  implication  upon 
Edward's  stability  of  character. 

"  Your  sister  is  as  strong  a  champion  for  her  brother  as  ever, 
I  see,"  observed  Miss  Forester  to  Charlotte,  with  a  soft  bitter- 
ness of  voice,  peculiarly  her  own.  "I  should  have  supposed  that 
six  months  of  matrimony — eight  months,  indeed — Mr.  Courte- 
nay,  I  believe,  was  married  in  October — might  have  had  some 
effect  upon  her  zeal." 

Edith  took  no  notice  of  the  observation,  though  her  heighten- 
ed color  showed  that  it  was  understood. 

"  Our  curiosity  will  soon  be  set  at  rest,"  said  Jane.  "  If  Ed- 
ward has  resolved  upon  standing,  he  will  give  us  the  earliest  in- 
telligence." 

"  Or  rather  Laura  will,"  said  Charlotte.  "  In  fact,  my  own 
opinion  is,  that  if  we  wish  to  know  Edward's  determination,  the 
most  certain  mode  will  be  to  ascertain  hers." 

"  Aie  you  not  a  little  severe  V  said  Miss  Forester. 

"  Why  should  you  think  so  ?  Laura  merely  exercises  a  wife's 
rightful  influence." 

"All   married   women   rule,"  said   Jane;    "only  some  \a\e 


GERTRUDE.  121 


more  tact  than  others  in  hiding  it.     A  perfect  stranger  could 
discover  it  at  Allingham." 

Edith  longed  to  change  the  conversation,  feeling  that  such  a 
discussion  of  family  affairs  before  a  common  acquaintance  was 
not  merely  a  breach  of  good  taste,  but  implied  a  degree  of  inti- 
macy which  she  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  acknowledge.  As 
usual,  however,  her  suggestion  was  of  no  avail,  from  the  awk- 
ward manner  in  which  it  was  made. 

ik  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  knowing  who  rules,  or 
does  not  rule,'*  she  said,  shortly.  "  Edward's  affairs  are  his  own, 
and  he  must  be  the  best  judge  as  to  what  most  conduces  to  his 
happiness."  - 

"  Can  I  do  or  say  any  thing  for  any  one  at  Allingham  !"  said 
Miss  Forester  ;  "  my  time  is  precious,  and  I  must  go  and  con- 
gratulate Mrs.  Courtenay  upon  her  husband's  prospects." 

"  And  urge  her  not  to  allow  him  to  neglect  them,"  said  Char- 
lotte. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  I  shall  make  a  point  of  doing  it.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  duty  to  my  father,  to  further  his  wishes,  1  shall  state  all 
the  advantages  he  foresees.  Not  that  there  can  be  any  need  of 
my  arguments  ;  Mr.  Courtenay  is  too  sensible  a  person  to  resist 
the  entreaties  of  his  best  friends  ;"  and  Miss  Forester,  aware 
from  Edith's  manner,  that  she  disliked  the  idea  of  Edward's  be- 
niLr  in  parliament,  trusted  that  she  had  inflicted  some  little  pain. 

"  Well !"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  "  I  can  only  repeat  what  I  said 
before — whoever  wins  Laura  wins  Edward." 

"  Then  I  am  certain  of  success.  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  I  have 
often  talked  together  upon  the  subject,  and  I  know  her  wishes 
perfectly." 

Edith  sighed,  and  so  deeply  as  to  attract  general  observation. 

'•  Your  sister  seems  to  take  a  very  gloomy  view  of  the  sub- 
ject," continued  Miss  Forester.  "  I  am  afraid  her  influence  will 
be  exerted  in  the  opposite  scale  to  mine,  so  1  had  better  take  the 
field  at  once.  There  is  generally  great  wisdom  in  being  before- 
hand. Good  morning  to  you.  I  will  call  on  my  return  to  let 
you  know  Mrs.  Courtenay's  feelings." 

Even  Jane  was  roused  by  this  freedom,  and  observed, sharp]  v, 
that  i;  it  would  be  an  unnecessary  trouble,  for  they  should  prob- 
ably have  heard  every  thing  long  before  ;"  but  Edith,  conscious 
of  the  power  which  Miss  Forester  exercised  over  Laura's  mind, 
and  with  a  vivid  remembrance  of  Mr.  Lacre's  warnings,  sprang 
forward  to  stop  her  as  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Fray,  pray, "  she  began,  and  then  paused. 

Miss  Forester  gazed  upon  her  with  the  same  unpleasant  smile 
■ihe  usually  wore. 

"  Let  me  beg "  Edith  again  commenced,  and  Miss  Fores- 
ter was  still  silent. 
C> 


122  GERTRUDE. 


«'  Don't  keep  your  friend  in  the  draught,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Courtenay  ;  "  no  one  can  stand  it.     My  last  cold  was  caught  in 

that  way." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  nonsense  1  exclaimed  Char- 
lotte.    "  Really,  Edith,  you  are  too  ridiculous." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  Miss  Forester,  keeping  her  sharp 
bright  eyes  fixed  upon  Edith,  whose  embarrassment  was  every 
moment  increasing. 

"  Will  you — will  you  ask  Mr.  Dacre's  opinion  before  you 
urge " 

For  the  third  time  the  sentence  remained  unfinished.  Edith 
felt  that  she  could  give  no  explanation  of  the  request.  Miss  For- 
ester's indignation,  however,  was  sufficiently  excited. 

"  There  can  be  no  occasion  to  apply  to  my  uncle  to  learn  his 
opinions  upon  any  subject,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  proud 
anger,  very  unlike  her  usual  affected  suavity.  "  Your  opinions, 
it  is  well  known,  are  his ;  where  so  much  is  to  be  gained  by 
%reement,  you  would  not  venture  to  differ." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Edith,  restored  to  self-posses- 
sion by  the  sight  of  Miss  Forester's  irritation.  "  All  that  I  meant 
to  say  was,  that  Mr  Dacre  has  had  great  experience,  and  I  am 
certain  has  my  brother's  interest  at  heart,  and  I  think  he  would 
say  that  it  is  unwise  for  any  person  to  attempt  to  influence  Ed- 
ward's decision." 

"  You  are  behaving  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner,  Edith," 
said  Charlotte.  "  You  seize  upon  Miss  Forester,  and  begin 
speaking  vehemently,  and  look  most  mysterious  ;  and  when  the 
explanation  comes,  it  is  merely  that  you  think  one  person  will 
consider  it  unwise  for  another  person  to  try  to  influence  Edward. 
If  you  are  so  uneasy  lest  he  should  be  induced  to  stand,  (though 
why  you  should  be,  no  one  can  imagine,)  you  had  better  go  and 
advise  him.     A  sister's  opinion  will  surely  be  listened  to." 

Edith  scarcely  waited  for  the  concluding  words  before  she  had 
left  the  room,  overcome  by  a  painful  sense  of  her  own  want  of 
self-command  and  presence  of  mind,  and  keenly  sensible  of  the 
ridicule  she  had  incurred.  Yet,  as  she  ran  up  stairs,  she  could 
not  avoid  hearing  Miss  Forester's  words,  spoken  expressly  in  a 
loud  tone  : 

"  I  may  tell  Mrs.  Courtenay,  then,  that  you  are  rejoicing  in 
the  idea  !" 

Charlotte's  reply  was  not  clear,  but  Miss  Forester's  laugh  was, 
and,  as  the  climax  of  consolation,  she  departed  with  the  assu- 
rance that,  even  if  Mrs.  Courtenay  disapproved,  there  were  argu- 
ments to  be  brought  forward,  which  must  be  all-powerful  with 
her  husband. 


GERTRUDE.  123 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

An  unusual  excitement  prevailed  at  Allingham  on  that  day, 
not  from  the  number  of  visiters,  or  the  preparations  for  an  en- 
tertainment, or  the  tumult  of  unexpected  grief  or  joy,  but  simply 
from  the  great,  almost  magical  effect  of  a  few  mysterious  looks 
and  words.  General  Forester  called,  and  was  told  that  Mr. 
( 'uurtenav  was  gone  out.  "  It  was  a  most  unfortunate  event. 
Which  way  was  he  gone  1  How  long  was  he  likely  to  be  ab- 
sent ?  Had  he  said  any  thing  about  his  return  ■?  No  message 
could  be  left,  for  a  personal  interview  was  absolutely  necessary  ;" 
and  the  obsequious  footman  suggesting  the  privacy  and  con- 
venience of  the  library,  the  General,  after  ascertaining  that 
Laura  was  not  in  the  house,  remained,  as  he  thought,  unobserved 
for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  the  unemployed  domes- 
tics, making  various  excursions  in  front  of  the  window,  watched 
him  carefully  perusing  papers  and  writing  notes,  and  went  back 
to  their  companions  to  conjecture  and  decide  upon  what  was 
going  to  happen.  Then  came  their  master's  return  ;  and  a  long 
conversation  in  the  library  with  carefully  closed  doors,  through 
which,  however,  General  Forester's  pompous  tones  were  occa- 
sionally caught,  as  he  spoke  of  patriotism,  and  self-sacrifice,  and 
family  lnlluence,  and  the  necessity  for  exertion  in  such  troubled 
limes.  Mr.  Courtenay's  answers  were  at  first  low  and  short,  in- 
dicating firm  decision  ;  but  the  General  was  not  easily  to  be  re- 
pelled, and  longer  explanations,  and  greater  energy,  were  soon 
brought  into  play.  Still  the  exact  purport  of  the  interview  was 
unknown  ;  but  a  practised  listener  would  have  detected  a  certain 
softening  of  the  pleader's  voice,  and  an  earnest  deprecatory  em- 
phasis  in  the  defendant's  replies,  winch  showed  that  the  latter 
had  begun  to  place  more  reliance  upon  the  sound  than  upon  the 
strength  of  his  arguments.  After  two  hours  spent  in  tins  man- 
ner, the  General  took  his  have,  with  a  pleased,  satisfied  smile 
upon  his  lips,  and  an  expression  of  conscious  importance  in  his 
demeanor.  Edward,  on  the  contrary,  was  moody  and  restless. 
He  inquired  for  his  wife,  and  finding  that  she  was  not  returned, 
paced  the  colonnade  rapidly  and  steadily  for  a  considerable  tune, 
and  then  suddenly  walked   away  in   the    direction  ol    .Mr.  Dacies 


124  GERTRUDE. 


cottage— and  here  the  curiosity  of  the  Allingham  establishment 
was  baffled  ;  but  neither,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  gain  an  in- 
sight into  Edward  s  mind,  would  it  have  been  easy  to  discovei 
the  motives  of  his  actions.  He  had,  in  fact,  no  determinate  mo 
tive.  General  Forester's  proposition,  when  first  made,  had  be  n 
declined,  gratefully,  but  decidedly  ;  then  gratefully  but  thought 
fully  ;  and  at  last  gratefully  and  waveringly  ;  and  now,  with  an 
agitated,  excited  mind,  Edward  was  about  to  apply  to  a  human 
counsellor,  disinterested  indeed  and  high-principled,  but  still 
only  human;  because  he  could  not  brave  alone  the  struggle  be- 
tween duty  and  inclination,  and  dared  not,  in  the  secrecy  of  his 
own  chamber,  ask  for  that  guidance  from  God  which  he  was 
conscious  of  being  but  little  inclined  to  follow.  And  in  this,  as 
in  many  other  instances,  Edward  acted  so  as  completely  to  de- 
ceive himself.  He  acknowledged  the  all-sufficient  obstacles  in 
the  path  of  his  ambition ;  he  believed  he  saw  them  in  their 
strongest  light ;  and  he  felt  that,  in  applying  to  Mr.  Dacre,  he 
was  consulting  a  person  who  would  not  for  an  instant  allow  his 
judgment  to  be  blinded  by  sophistry  ;  but  he  did  not  see  that, 
unril  these  obstacles  were  removed,  the  opinion  of  a  third  person 
could  not  be  required  ;  and  that,  in  submitting  the  case  to  human 
judgment,  he  was,  in  fact,  leaving  himself  free  to  decide  accord- 
ing to  his  own  will.  A  self-chosen  authority  may  be  self-deposed, 
and  can  never  be  of  any  avail,  except  in  cases  where  the  ques- 
tion of  right  and  wrong  is  so  nicely  balanced  as  to  be  difficult 
of  adjustment,  or  when  we  entirely  distrust  ourselves,  and  are 
willing  to  submit  implicitly  to  another,  whether  for  or  against 
our  inclinations.  Edward's  state  of  mind  was  the  very  reverse 
of  this.  Even  in  ordinary  cases,  he  piqued  himself  upon  abiding 
by  his  own  decision,  unconscious  that  weakness  of  resolution  was 
his  prevailing  defect ;  and  when  shown  into  Mr.  Dacre's  study, 
he  entered  far  more  like  a  person  who  has  performed  a  noble  ac- 
tion, and  is  in  expectation  of  well-merited  praise,  than  one  who 
is  desirous  of  advice  under  trying  circumstances. 

You  are  come,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  to  tell  me 
something  more  about  your  old  nurse  and  my  little  protegee  ;  I 
am  sorry  you  should  have  so  much  trouble." 

"  That  was  all  settled  this  morning  with  my  sister,"  replied 
Edward;  "my  business  now  is  rather  more  important.  \  ou 
must  have  heard  the  news  before  this." 

"  The  resignation  of  ministers?"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

il  Yes,  and  the  consequent  dissolution.  The  papers  have  not 
yet  publicly  confirmed  the  report,  but  General  Forester  has  had 
private  information,  which  puts  it  beyond  doubt." 

"  And  are  you  come  so  early  to  canvass  fur  Mr.  Vivian  "?"  said 
Mr.  Dacre,  with  a  considerable  misgiving  as  to  the  answer  ha 
should  receive. 


GERTRUDE.  125 


"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Edward,  eagerly.  "  You  forget  that  we 
differ  entirely." 

"  Then  for  his  intended  opponent  ?" 

"  Wrong  again  ; — but  I  am  not  come  to  canvass  at  all — merelj 
to  ask  advice." 

Mr.  Dacre's  countenance  resumed  its  usual  expression  ot 
grave  interest. 

"  That  is  to  say,"  continued  Edward,  "  not  advice  exactly,  but 
I  should  be  glad  to  know  whether  our  opinions  agree.  What — 
what  should  you  think  if  I  were  to  stand  myself?" 

The  very  tone  of  his  voice  was  an  index  to  his  wavering 
mind,  and  Mrv  Dacre's  ordinary  self-possession  was  rather 
shaken. 

"The  suggestion  is  startling  to  yon,  I  see,"  added  Edward, 
who,  though  not  in  general  vain,  felt  slightly  annoyed  at  perceiv- 
ing that  his  friend  did  not  consider  him  the  fittest  of  all  persons 
to  represent  the  county. 

"It  is  natural  to  be  surprised  when  such  a  notion  is  started  for 
the  first  time,"  said  Mr.  Dacre ;  "  but  you  surely  cannot  be 
anxious  for  my  advice  on  this  point,  you  must  know  so  much  bet- 
ter than  I  do  the  reasons  for  or  against  it." 

"  As  in  most  cases,  there  is  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides," 
replied  Edward.  "  General  Forester  has  been  with  me  nearly 
two  hours  this  morning,  setting  forth  in  the  strongest  manner  the 
reasons  which  should  induce  me  to  come  forward." 

"  The  General  is  a  party  man,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  So  he  may  be,  but  our  principles  entirely  agree.  He  said 
many  things  which  were  very  striking  ; — and  certainly  these  are 
times  when  to  be  in  Parliament  is  to  obtain  a  vast  influence." 

"  Fearfully  vast,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  But  you  would  not  on  that  account  shrink  from  it,  I  suppose  1" 

"  Not  when  a  clear  path  of  duty  is  pointed  out ;  but  the  diffi- 
culty in  these  cases  is  to  decide  whether  it  is  our  path  or  some 
other  person's  which  we  fancy  ourselves  called  upon  to  enter." 

Edward  was  provoked  at  finding  that  his  adviser's  decision 
was  likely  to  be  in  favor  of  his  conscience  against  his  inclina- 
tion ;  and  a  little  reflection,  at  this  instant,  might  have  convinced 
him  that  his  judgmen'.  was  not  so  irrevocably  settled  as  he  had 
ini;iLriiied. 

"  Then  you  think,"  he  said,  endeavoring  to  conceal  his  pique. 
"  that  the  path  of  a  member  of  Parliament  is  not  mine  !" 

"Before  I  answer,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  "I  must  ask  you  to 
explain  your  meaning  rather  more  clearly.  Do  you  wish  to  know 
whether  I  think  you  lilted  for  the  office,  or  merely  whether  it  ap- 
pears pradenl  in  you  to  stand  for  it  !" 

"Both — both:  I  include  everything,"  said  Edward,  hastily. 

Mr.  Dacre  was  considerably  embarrassed.     If  Edward   had 


126  GERTRUDE. 


:ipciilv  stated  his  difficulties,  and  then  appealed  to  his  judgment 
the  case  would  have  been  easily  decided  ;  but  now  it  was  im- 
possible to  speak  conscientiously,  without  alluding  to  those  pecu- 
niary affairs,  which  seemed,  by  a  tacit  agreement,  to  have  been 
hitherto  forgotten  by  both.  "  The  question  of  personal  fitness," 
he  said  at  length,  "  must  be  left  to  every  man's  conscience.  I 
should  consider  any  person  with  a  clear  judgment  and  strict  un- 
bending  principles  of  duty  justified  in  obtaining,  if  possible,  a  seat 
in  Parliament,  provided  that  his  situation  in  life  offered  him  the 
means." 

"Yes — certainly, — yes, — "said  Edward,  hesitatingly  ;  "but, 
in  fact,  General  Forester  assures  me  that  the  expenses  of  the 
e.ection  shall  cost  me  nothing.  The  gentlemen  of  the  county  he 
is  certain  will  guaranty  them." 

"  I  would  not  distrust  the  gentlemen  of  this  or  any  other  coun- 
ty," replied  Mr.  Dae  re  ;  "  but  experience  is  against  the  fact  ot 
any  man's  obtaining  a  seat  in  Parliament  without  expenses.  And 
then  the  consequences — the  frequent,  residence  in  town,  and  the 
perpetual  claims,  and  the  exertions  to  maintain  popularity." 

"Ah!  but  I  should  make  no  exertions,"  exclaimed  Edward. 
"  No  person  can  be  less  inclined  than  myself  to  pay  court  to  that 
'  many-headed  monster  thing,'  the  people." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre,  "  as  far  as  your 
expenses  are  concerned.  You  may  pay  court  to  the  little  farmer 
and  the  petty  tradesman  with  tobacco  and  small  beer,  but  your 
supporters  in  the  highest  ranks  will  require  ices  and  champagne." 

"No,  no!"  exclaimed  Edward,  impatiently,  "you  do  not  un- 
derstand my  ideas.  If  I  went  into  Parliament,  it  would  be  on  a 
totally  different  footing.  I  could  never  lower  myself  by  trying 
to  conciliate  any  one  ;  it  would  not  be  worth  while.  The  seat 
itself  is  a  mere  nothing  to  me  ;  it  could  neither  add  to  not  dimin- 
ish from  m)  happiness,  yet  it  might  open  a  wide  field  of  useful- 
ness, and  this  is  the  only  thing  that  makes  me  hesitate,  —al- 
though," he  added,  in  a  less  determined  manner,  "  I  have  declined 
General  Forester's  proposals  for  the  present ;  that  is,  I  have  told 
him  he  must  not  depend  upon  me." 

Mr.  Dacre  seemed  disinclined  to  speak,  and  Edward  contin- 
ued, in  a  loud,  eager  tone  : — "  It  is  a  most  alarming  responsibility, 
certainly,  to  take  upon  one's  self — but  something  must  be  done.  If 
men  of  property,  and  educated  in  good  principles,  do  not  sacri- 
fice  themselves,  the  country  will  infallibly  be  ruined.  Just  look 
at  the  manufacturing  districts — the  abject  misery  of  the  poor, 
and  the  enormous  fortunes  of  the  rich, — look  at  the  statistics  ot 
crime — at  the  rapidly  increasing  population,  and  the  misery  oc- 
casioned by  the  New  Poor  Law  ;  and  then  turn  to  the  colonies 
—see  the  mass  of  vice  which  is  daily  accumulating  in  our  con- 
vict settlements,  with  scarcely  a  hope  of  improvement,  and  al 


GERTRUDE.  12? 


most  destitute  of  a  church  ;  and  then  consider  for  one  instant  the 
condition  of  that  church  in  England — deprived  of  all  power  by 
the  state,  forbidden  to  assemble  in  convocation,  and  illegally 
robbed  of  the  means  of  providing  for  her  children.  The  Church !" 
— and  Edward  became  still  more  excited  and  enthusiastic — 
"  yes,  if  it  were  for  the  Church  alone,  I  should  long  to  be  a 
member  of  Parliament." 

"  It  is  an  awful,  a  most  awful  picture,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  in  a 
tone  of  solemnity  which  contrasted  forcibly  with  Edward's 
energy;  and  then,  resting  his  forehead  upon  the  mantelpiece,  he 
appeared  for  some  minutes  buried  in  thought.  "  Yet,"  he  con- 
tinued, rousing  himself  from  his  revery,  "  unless  we  are  clearly 
pointed  out  by  Providence  as  the  instruments  of  so  great  a  work 
as  the  salvation  of  our  country,  I  think  we  ought  to  consider 
seriously  before  we  undertake  it." 

"  Then  who  will  dare  to  attempt  it  V  replied  Edward.  "  No 
one  can  look  into  his  own  heart,  and  say  that  he  is  qualified  to 
judge  correctly  upon  the  least  of  those  subjects  upon  which  men 
are  perpetually  required  to  legislate." 

"  It  is  not  an  inward,  but  an  outward  call  which  I  should  deem 
necessary,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  not  merely  a  man's  talent  and 
principle,  but  the  being  provided  with  the  means  of  exercising 
them." 

"  Money  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  with  a  slight,  a  very  slight, 
accent  of  sarcasm. 

"  Yes,  money  :  you  have  expressed  precisely  what  was  in  my 
mind." 

"But  surely — surely,"  continued  Edward,  "you  cannot  see 
any  connection  bet*veen  the  possession  of  money  and  the  making 
of  just  laws." 

"  There  is  no  necessary  connection,  I  own  ;  but  if  a  father, 
perfect  in  wisdom  and  goodness,  were  to  place  his  child  in  sight 
of  a  battle,  and  after  enjoining  upon  him  strict  obedience  to  what- 
ever line  of  conduct  he  might  point  out,  were  to  fetter  his  hands, 
and  chain  his  feet,  I  think  we  should  say  that  the  duty  of 
that  child  was  pa*>ence  and  submission  rather  than  active  exer- 
tion." 

"  It  is  an  imaginary  case,"  said  Edward,  "  and  it  cannot  be 
mine.  If  I  were  to  stand,  General  Forester  assures  me  I  should 
be  brought  in  free  of  all  expenses.  I  am  not  blind  enough  to 
take  Bach  a  phrase  literally,  but  it  must  mean  something." 

"  Even  then,  I  confess  I  should  have  considerable  scruples," 
said  Mr.  Dacre. 

'  Why,  why  ]"  asked  Edward,  impatiently. 

"Because  it  would  be  engaging  in  a  most  important  busi- 
ness without  the  authority  to  control  it.  Every  one  knows  the 
ulischiefs  of  an   election. — the  drunkenness,  and   falsehood,  and 


128  GERTRUDE. 


deceit — I  will  not  say  bribery  and  perjury — which  are  almost  al- 
ways its  attendants." 

"  But  you  cannot  imagine  I  should  allow  such  things,"  ex- 
claimed Edward,  looking  extremely  hurt :  "  then  indeed  you 
have  mistaken  me." 

"  No,  believe  me  ;  I  am  certain  you  would  not ;  and  it  is  for 
this  very  reason  I  am  convinced  that,  after  consideration,  you 
could  not  allow  yourself  to  be  brought  forward  by  others,  instead 
of  standing  independently.  If  they  undertake  your  expenses, 
they  must  manage  your  affairs.  You  will  be  a  mere  tool  in  their 
hands.  Whatever  they  may  do  will  have  the  sanction  of  your 
name,  and  yet  you  will  not  be  able  to  raise  a  finger  against  it. 
Can  you  trust  yourself  to  this]" 

There  was  a  silence  of  several  minutes,  while  Edward  com- 
muned with  his  own  thoughts.  "  You  are  right,"  he  said  at 
length,  turning  to  Mr.  Dacre ;  "  I  see  it  now  even  more  clearly 
than  before.  It  must  not  be  ;  and  yet  do  not  consider  it  merely 
the  vanity  of  a  young  man  :  I  think  I  should  have  done  my 
duty." 

"  I  am  sure,  quite  sure,  that  no  man  would  ever  have  entered 
upon  the  office  with  a  more  firm  intention  of  doing  it  ;  but  I 
think  you  will  agree  with  me,  that  when  we  place  ourselves  in 
any  position  which  it  is  not  clearly  the  intention  of  Providence 
we  should  occupy,  we  have  great  reason  to  doubt  whether  our 
best  intentions  may  not  fail.  All  situations  of  importance  are 
situations  of  temptation  likewise." 

"  If  we  could  shut  our  eyes  to  the  miseries  of  the  coun- 
try," replied  Edward,  "  it  would  be  easy  to  submit  to  a 
life  of  seclusion  and  inactivity  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  look  at 
what  England  is,  and  what  she  might  be,  and  not  long  to  exert 
one  s  self.  ' 

"  And  are  you  sure  that  there  may  not  be  exertions  for  good 
made  in  private,  as  powerful  as  any  which  a  public  man  may  ex- 
ercise— the  influence  of  dailv  example,  for  instance  ;  meekness, 
and  purity,  and  charity  ?  If'it  is  the  will  of  God  that  England 
should  be  saved,  is  it  not  possible  that  the  end  may  be  attained  by 
the  constant  prayers  and  efforts  of  good  men,  whose  names  may 
never  be  heard  beyond  their  own  narrow  circle  V 

"  But  to  feel  that  we  have  a  power,  and  to  be  forbidden  to 
use  it,"  said  Edward,  "  that  is  the  trial.  To  see  other  people 
jcting  on  false,  low  principles,  and  know  that  our  own  education 
has  been  different,  and  therefore  to  hope  that  we  should  act  from 
higher  motives,  and  still  to  be  patient." 

"  The  highest  of  all  principles,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  "  is  surelv 
obedience.  If  we  are  deficient  in  this — if  we  have  «i  wish  to 
escape  from  it — we  cannot  answer  for  any  other." 

"  I  scarcely  see  the  case  in  as  strong  a  light  as  you  do," 


GERTRUDE.  129 

answered  Edward  ;  "  but  I  suppose  it  is  right  to  distrust  one's 
self." 

"  It  is  safest,  at  least,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Then  it  is  decided,"  said  Edward  ;  "  that  is  to  say,  your 
opinion  is  merely  a  confirmation  of  my  own  ;  but  I  am  glad  to 
have  had  it." 

This  speech,  so  evidently  a  salve  to  Edward's  wounded  pride, 
would  have  been  amusing  to  almost  any  person  except  Mr.  Da- 
cre ;  but  although,  with  his  peculiarly  clear  insight  into  human 
nature,  he  detected  instantly  the  feeling  from  which  it  arose,  it 
only  gave  him  a  sense  of  insecurity  and  doubt  as  to  Edward's 
ultimate  conduct ;  and  with  this  he  could  not  be  amused.  Yet 
there  were  many  kind  words  at  parting ;  many  expressions  of 
gratitude  and  regard  ;  and  a  stranger  would  have  supposed  that 
Mr.  Courtenay's  decision  was  immoveably  settled ;  but  Mr.  Da- 
cre thought  otherwise. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


When  Miss  Forester  left  the  Priory,  it  was  with  the  inten- 
tion, as  she  had  said,  of  calling  at  Allingbam ;  but  the  sight  of 
Mrs.  Courtenay's  low  phaeton  and  gray  ponies,  in  the  road 
leading  to  Elsham,  proved  that  her  visit  would  be  useless;  and 
not  being  able  to  satisfy  her  curiosity  in  the  way  she  desired, 
her  next  step  was  to  return  home  as  quickly  as  possible  to  obtain 
from  her  father  all  the  further  information  he  was  able  and  wil- 
ling to  give.  And  as  she  walked,  visions — bright,  tempting 
visions — dreams  of  luxury  and  magnificence — of  elegant  din- 
ners— and  fashionable  society — balls  and  soirees — Almacks  and 
Buckingham  Palace — filled  Miss  Forester's  head;  and  the  step- 
ping stone  to  this  grandeur  was  Edward  Courtenay's  seat  in 
Parliament.  Lot  this  point  once  be  gained,  and  every  thing  else 
was  easy.  As  his  wife's  intimate  friend,  but  little  management 
would  be  required  to  enable  her  to  share  her  pleasures  ;  and 
Miss  Forester,  notwithstanding  the  five  and  thirty  years  which 
had  passed  over  her  head,  dwelt  upon  the  idea  with  the  false  ex- 
citement  of  a  girl  of  eighteen.  Laura,  in  the  mean  time,  drove 
into  Elsham  ;  paid  her  visits  in  proper  form  ;  inquired  after  the 
health  of  the  various  households;  discussed  the  weather,  ami 
praised  the  children;  and  then,  that  .she  might  return  home 
with  a  conscience  completely  at  ease,  turned  her  ponies'  heads 


l30  GEUTRTDE 


in  the  direction  of  the  Priory.  It  was  a  duty  visit,  such  aa 
she  was  now  in  the  habit  of  making  at  regular  intervals,  and 
which  was  becoming  daily  more  and  more  irksome.  It  was  not 
merely  that  Mrs.  Courtenay  was  weak-minded,  and  her  sisters- 
in-law  either  thoughtless  and  satirical,  or  cold  and  unconge- 
nial ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  family  circle,  scarcely  to 
be  told  in  words,  but  jarring  even  upon  the  least  susceptible 
nerves,  and  which  to  Laura  was  peculiarly  distressing.  Almost 
every  sentence,  and  gesture,  and  action,  betrayed  the  absence 
of  harmony  ;  and  as  Laura  became,  by  observation,  more  alive 
to  the  distinctive  traits  of  character,  she  naturally  felt  more 
painfully  the  little  intonations  of  voice,  and  trifling  marks  of 
selfishness,  which,  by  an  ordinary  acquaintance,  would  probably 
have  been  unheeded.  And  then  she  thought  of  Edith's  sense, 
and  decision,  and  energy,  and  self-denial ;  of  her  kindness  to 
the  poor;  her  affection  for  Edward,  blended  with  her  forgetful- 
ness  of  her  home,  and  the  unkind  words  and  great  neglect  of 
herself;  and  the  problem  became  too  difficult  for  Laura  to  solve  ; 
only  she  felt  that,  if  Edith  were  good,  goodness  was  disagree- 
able. 

Jane  and  Charlotte,  with  their  mother,  were  still  in  the  draw- 
ing-room when  Laura  entered,  and  imagining  that  she  was  come 
to  inform  them  of  the  expected  event,  addressed  her  with  ques- 
tions and  congratulations  so  rapidly  as  to  give  her  no  lime  to  in- 
quire their  meaning. 

"  Just  think,  my  dear.''  began  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "  what  a  change ! 
and  you  will  be  in  London  so  much ;  and  poor  Edward  is  not  at 
all  strong  ;  we  never  thought  he  would  live  when  he  was  two 
months  old." 

••  Rather  jumping  to  conclusions,  without  giving  the  premises, 
mamma,"  said  Charlotte,  observing  her  sister-in-law's  bewilder- 
ed expression  ;  "  but  really,  Laura,  we  do  want  to  know  what 
Edward  says  to  this  business." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  sit  down  here 
and  tell  us  all  about  it — a  little  closer — you  know  I  am  rather 
deaf ;  now  then,  when  did  he  hear  about 'it  first  !" 

'  This  morning,  of  course,"  observed  Jane.  "  Miss  Forester 
said  the  General  went  off  directly." 

■'  W  'lit  off  where  !  what  do  you  mean  !  what  are  you  all  talk- 
ing about'?"  exclaimed  Laura. 

"Oh!  my  love,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay;  "  and  we 
are  so  longing  to  hear — pray  tell  us  quickly." 

"  But  what  !  tell  what  ?"  repeated  Laura  ;  "  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged  if  some  one  would  explain." 

'There  is  no  particular  explanation  needed,  that  I  can  see,' 
replied  Jane  ;  "  we  only  want  to  know  if  Edward  intends  stand- 

;ng." 


GERTRUDE.  131 


"  Standing !"  again  repeated  Laura. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  if  you  would  only 
make  haste,  I  should  he  so  glad  ;  I  really  am  nervous  from  being 
kept  so  long  in  suspense." 

"And  there  can  be  no  good  in  it,"  continued  Jane,  "  for  we 
must  know  sooner  or  later." 

"  Besides,  I  thought  you  disliked  mysteries."  said  Charlotte  : 
"  and  if  you  did  not,  elections  are  such  public  things,  it  is  useless 
to  attempt  keeping  them  to  one's  self." 

"  Then  Parliament  is  dissolved,"  exclaimed  Laura ;  starting 
from  her  seat,  in  an  excitement  of  surprise  and  pleasure ;  "  the 
very  thing,  of  all  others,  I  have  been  longing  for." 

"So  he  will  stand,  my  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Courtenay,  in  a 
tremulous  voice ;  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  Laura's  arm  in 
order  to  be  certain  of  detaining  her  till  the  question  was  an- 
swered. 

Laura  moved  away;  and  heedless  of  any  thing  but  her  own 
gratification  in  the  prospect  suddenly  opening  before  her,  began, 
in  her  turn,  to  ask  questions  with  such  volubility,  that  poor  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  in  silent  despair,  laid  down  her  work,  and  sat,  patient 
and  resigned,  with  her  head  bent  forward,  endeavoring  to  ex- 
tract an  answer  for  herself,  since  it  seemed  in  vain  to  expect  one 
directly  from  others.  A  few  words  of  explanation  sufficed  to 
prove  that  Laura  was  equally  ignorant  with  themselves  ;  but  her 
wishes  were  so  decidedly  in  favor  of  Edward's  coming  forward, 
that  Charlotte,  at  least,  felt  little  doubt  as  to  his  decision. 

"  He  will  have  the  cordial  support  of  every  one  in  the  family, 
jxcept  Edith,"  said  Jane;  "she  sets  her  face  decidedly  against 
* — why,  no  one  can  tell." 

"  And  no  one  would  wish  to  tell,  I  should  think,"  observed 
Charlotte  ;  "  hut  you  must  not  let  her  talk  to  Edward,  Laura,  if 
<rou  wish  to  persuade  him  without  trouble." 

[  have  no  fear  of  any  persuasion,"  began  Laura,  proudly  ; 
but  her  sentence  was  interrupted,  for,  at  that  instant,  the  door 
opened  and  Edith  appeared. — "Good-by,  I  must  go,  the  ponies 
will  be  very  fidgety  if  I  keep  them  so  long  !  Edith,  you  must 
excuse  rny  running  away,  but " 

"  Hut  you  cannot  rest  till  you  have  secured  Edward's  prom- 
ise to  Btand  for  the  county,"  said  Charlotte,  laughing.  "You 
Bee,  Edith,  whom  you  will  "have  to  fight  against." 

Edith  looked  not  merely  vexed,  but  unhappy;  and  seeing 
that  she  should  probably  have  no  other  opportunity  of  gaining 
a  patient  hearing,  determined  on  following  Mr.  Daere's  advice, 
ami  endeavoring,  if  possible,  to  accomplish  the  object  upon  the 
importance  of  which  he  had  so  strongly  insisted. 

"J  would  not  willingly  detain  you,  Laura,"  she  said;  "but 


132  CERTRUDE. 


indeed  it  is  of  great  consequence  that  I  should  say  a  few  words 
to  you  alone." 

Laura  slightly  shuddered,  and  recurred  involuntarily  to  her 
many  offences.  "If  it  is  of  consequence,"  she  replied,  "I  can 
sav  nothing ;  but  I  assure  you  I  have  no  time  to  spare ;  would 
not  to-morrow  do  V 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  but  really  I  will  not  keep  you  more  than  a 
few  minutes;"  and  with  a  countenance  grave,  almost  to  severity, 
Edith  opened  the  folding  doors,  and  ushered  her  sister-in-law 
into  the  library. 

Laura  sighed  in  submission  to  her  fate,  though  at  the  same 
time  feeling  considerably  irritated  ;  for  it  was  Edith's  misfortune 
frequently  to  wear  the  appearance  of  pride,  when  she  was  in 
reality  humble  ;  and  this  was  peculiarly  the  case  in  the  present 
instance.  The  stiffness  of  manner,  which  to  Laura  appeared 
haughtiness  and  conceit,  was  in  fact  merely  the  effort  to  restrain 
deep  and  anxious  feeling ;  but  its  effects  were  painfully  repel- 
ling, especially  when  heightened  by  the  constrained  tone  in 
which  she  began  :  "You  must  forgive  me,  Laura;  I  know  it  is 
not  my  part  to  interfere  ;  but  indeed  it  is  only  from  a  sense  of 
duty." 

The  words  were  humble,  but  the  tone  was  not ;  and  Laura, 
from  her  childhood  unable  to  endure  suspense,  hastily  inter- 
rupted her  with — "I  will  forgive  any  thing  you  wish,  if  you  will 
only  tell  me  at  once  what  is  the  matter — what  have  I  done  1" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  it  is  not  what  you  have  done, 
but  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

"  Me !  I  am  not  going  to  do  any  thing,  except  to  drive  back 
to  Allingham." 

"  But  you  are  intending,  at  least  you  said  you  were — you 
want  Edward  to  stand  for  the  county." 

"Yes,  certainly,"    said   Laura,  looking  extremely  surprised 
•'  and  so  do  you,  I  suppose  ;  so  do  all  his  friends." 

'•  Not  his  real  friends,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  those  who  sincerely 
value  his  happiness  would  most  strongly  urge  upon  him  the 
folly  of  such  a  scheme.     1  am  sure  you  would,  Laura,  if " 

"If  what?"  continued  Laura;  "am  I  not  his  sincere  friend? 
Is  not  his  happiness  my  happiness?  Are  not  our  interests  one 
and  the  same  1     Why  should  you  speak  of  ifs  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  think  you  have  well  considered  the  subject, 
and  calculated  the  expenses.  I  think  you  are  led  away  by  ex- 
citement, and  not  likely  to  have  an  unbiased  judgment."" 

"  Very  possibly,"  said  Laura,  in  a  tone  of  pique;  "but  pray, 
have  you  the  same  opinion  of  Edward?  I  thought  he  was  your 
paragon  of  excellence." 

"  My  opinion  of  Edward  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case," 
said  Edith,  coldly  ;  for  any  allusion  to  what  she  had  formerly 


GERTRUDE.  133 

felt  for  her  brother,  was  never  patiently  borne.  "  It  is  vou, 
Laura,  of  whom  I  am  speaking  now.  Every  thing  depends  upo» 
your  influence ;  and  you  cannot  tell  the  importance  of  what  you 
are  going  to  urge  Edward  to  do." 

"  So  I  can  well  imagine.  I  dare  say  he  will  make  a  noise  in 
the  world,  and  be  thought  a  great  deal  of." 

"  But  that  is  all  nothing,''  said  Edith  ;  "  piay,  pray,  think  of 
the  expenses." 

"  No,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  that  is  not  a  wife's  prov- 
ince. If  Edward  thinks  he  can  afford  it,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not 
be  the  person  to  say  nay." 

"  And  you-will  not  warn  him  ?"  said  Edith. 

"  Why  should  I  ?     What  are  your  objections  V 

"  I  can't  explain  them  all,"  replied  Edith,  looking  embarrass- 
ed ;  "  but  some  must  be  clear  to  every  one." 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  follow  your  guidance  against  my  own 
inclinations  V 

"  Because  I  have  your  truest  interest  at  heart,"  said  Edith  ; 
"besides,  it  is  impossible  not  to  see  the  danger  of  extravagance." 

"Extravagance!  nonsense,"  repeated  Laura;  "if  Edward 
cannot  afford  election  expenses,  I  am  certain  he  cannot  afford  to 
live  in  the  style  he  does.  He  must  have  money  at  command, 
for  I  never  ask  for  a  tiling  wliich  he  does  not  give  me." 

"  And  therefore  you  would  ruin  him,"  said  Edith,  gravely. 
"  Oh  !  Laura,  listen  to  me  but  this  once  ;  I  only  desire  to  save 
ymi  from  suffering." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,  Edith,"  said  Laura,  "and  I  am  in 
a  hurry." 

"  Only  one  moment,"  exclaimed  Edith,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
anxiety;  "I  am  sure  you  don't  know  all,  or  you  never  could 

tst." 

"  I  know  that  I  am  determined  Edward  shall  be  in  Parlia- 
ment." 

'•  But  won't  you  believe  me  V  said  Edith  ;  "  I  can  have  no 
object  but  your  happiness." 

'"Indeed!"  answered  Laura,  ironically  ;  "I  should  scarcely 
have  supposed  that  from  past  experience,  considering  that  the 
fiily  harsh  words  Edward  ever  spoke  to  me,  were  caused  by 
your  remarks." 

Poor  Edith's  ryes  filled  with  tears.  She  remembered  Mr. 
Dacre'a  words:  the  solemnity  with  which  he  had  reminded  her 
of  the  account  to  be  rendered  for  inlluence,  as  for  every  other 
talent;  ami  she  felt  that  hers  had  been  neglected.  Now,  when 
it  was  so  much  needed,  it  was  gone,  h  was  the  first  time  that 
Laura  had  ever  directly  alluded  to  the  chief  cause  cf  their  es- 
trangement.        Vet    Edith    dared    not   explain    or   apologize;    foJ 

he  opinion  Bhe  had  incautiously  expressed,  was  still  retained. 


134  GERTRUDE. 


"  Then  you  will  not  listen,"  she  said,  "and  I  must  appeal  to 
Edward." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  that  shall  never  be.  I  will 
trust  nothing  that  concerns  us  in  any  hands  but  my  own.  What- 
ever I  may  be  in  your  eyes,  I  am  dear  and  precious  in  my  hus- 
band's ;  and  I  will  never  allow  a  cold,  unsympathizing  perfec- 
tion to  come  between  me  and  him.  Tell  me  what  I  am  to  say, 
and  I  will  promise  to  deliver  your  message  without  variation." 

"  There  is  no  need,"  replied  Edith,  as  calmly  as  her  agita- 
tion would  allow.  "  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  have  con- 
sented to  discuss  the  subject  dispassionately ;  and  tuen  you 
mio'ht,  perhaps,  have  been  induced  to  view  it  in  a  different  light. 
I  know  that  Edward  will  be  influenced,  more  than  he  will  him- 
self allow,  by  your  wishes,  and  therefore  I  desired  to  enlist  you 
on  the  side  of  prudence." 

"  And  why,  if  I  may  ask,"  said  Laura,  drawing  herself  up, 
and  speaking  in  a  tone  as  calm,  though  less  gentle — "  why  are 
you  alone  to  be  the  judge  of  what  is  prudent  1  Why  may  not 
Edward  be  considered  the  fit  guardian  of  his  own  affairs!  And 
why  should  you  urge  upon  a  wife  to  undertake  the  task  of  dis- 
suading her  husband  from  his  public  duty  ?" 

"  Because  there  is  a  private  duty  which  is  more  imperative," 
replied  Edith  ;  "  and  Edward  knows  it.  I  cannot  say  more  ;  but 
since  you  have  promised,  Laura,  to  deliver  any  message  which 
[  may  send,  let  it  be  that — it  may  be  but  casting  words  to  the 
wind, — yet  it  may  also  induce  him  to  hesitate, — and  to-morrow 
"  "  1  will  see  him  myself,"  she  was  about  to  add,  but  some- 
thing in  the  expression  of  Laura's  countenance  checked  her. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Laura,  "  you  will  probably  find  that  Ed- 
ward has  decided  upon  his  duty  without  asking  counsel  of  any 
one.  If  you  have  nothing  to  say  upon  any  other  subject,  Edith, 
I  had  better  go,  for  my  time  is  valuable." 

Edith  coldly  held  out  her  hand,  which  Laura  as  coldly  took. 
A  formal  good-by  was  sioken  on  both  sides  ;  and,  without  re- 
turning to  the  drawing-room,  Laura  seated  herself  in  her  pop.y- 
carriage,  and  drove  from  the  Priory.  Edith  watched  her  as 
she  left  the  room,  and  listened  to  the  departing  sounds ;  and 
then,  unable  to  control  her  vexation,  shed  tears  of  regret  ami 
self-reproach. 


GERTRUDE.  135 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

Proudly  as  Laura  had  behaved  during  the  interview  with 
her  sister-in-law,  she  was  not  entirely  untouched  by  what  had 
passed.     Edith's  opposition,  though  unaccountable,  was  still  too 
earnest  not  to  awaken  some  idea  that  it  might  be  well  founded  ; 
and   when  the  first  excitement   of  her   feelings    had    subsided, 
Laura  resolved  upon  repeating  to  her  husband  all  that  had  been 
said,  without  offering  any  comment  of  her  own,  and  then  de- 
manding an  explanation  ;    but  unfortunately  the   resolution  was 
made  at  the  very  moment  of  passing  the  Grange,  and  the  sound 
of  Miss  Forester's  syren  voice,  as  she  stood   by  the  lodge-gate, 
and  entreated  that  her  dear  Mrs.  Courtenay  would  give   her  the 
pleasure  of  ten  minutes'  conversation,   proved    so   soothing  to 
Laura's  temper,  that    she    could   not    resist    the    temptation   to 
alight.     There  was   no   difficulty  in   discovering  that  something 
had  happened  to  disturb   Laura"s  equanimity,  and   her  openness 
of  character  quickly  revealed  the  cause  to  one  so  keen  in  obser- 
vation.    Miss  Forester's   selfish   tact   had    never,  perhaps,  been 
more  carefully  brought  into  play.     She  suggested  a  jealousy  of 
Edith's   influence  over  her   brother,  ridiculed    the  idea  of  pru- 
dence being  necessary  to   a  man  of  Edward's  fortune,  lauded 
his  splendid  talents,  and  repeated  her  father's  opinion  of  his  cer- 
tain success;  and  then  proceeded  to   describe  in  glowing  colors 
the  path  that  was  open  to   his  ambition — the   position   in  which 
he   would   be  placed — the    popularity   he   would    command — the 
gratification  of  being  looked  up  to  and   courted — and   Laura  lis- 
tened to  the  honeyed    words,    and    yielded    unresistingly    to   the 
temptation  of  dreams  so  alluring  to  a  young  mind  ;  and,  before 
Bhe  left  the  Grange,  gave  a  promise  that  if  Fdward  were  in- 
clined  to  hesitate,  no  argument  which  she  could   use   should    be 
spared    in   inducing   him   to  consent.      The  conversation    lasted 
bo  l')iiLr,  that,  on   reaching  Allingbam,  Laura   found  that  dinner 
had    already  been    announced,  and    heard    with    pleasure   thai 
Generai   Forester  was  to  be  her  gues.t.     It  was  evident  that  Ed. 
ward   had  not  yet  decidedly  refused  ;    and  much  as  she  longed 
to  be  with  him  alone,  she  was  willing  to  bear  the  delaj  of  a  few 
hours,  in  the  hope  that  the  General's   arguments  would  render 
her  own  entreaties  needless.     The  dinner  was  dull  and  uninter- 
esting.    The  General,  a  Bhrewd,  worldly  politician,  benl   upon 


13G  GERTRUDE. 


obtaining-  Edward's  consent,  because  it  was  most  likely  la 
ensure  success  to  his  party,  and  render  himself  a  person  of  con- 
sequence, carefully  abstained  from  all  allusion  to  the  subject 
uppermost  in  his  thoughts,  but  could  not  prevent  his  attention 
from  wandering  from  the  trifling  topics  of  conversation.  Laurr- 
watched  every  change  of  her  husband's  countenance,  in  the 
hope  of  gaining  some  clew  to  his  determination  ;  and  Edward 
sat  silent,  endeavoring  to  satisfy  himself,  that  in  inviting  Gen- 
eral Forester  to  dinner,  he  had  merely  performed  the  part  of  3 
friend,  without  any  wish  of  swerving  from  the  resolution  of  the 
morning.  At  length  the  dessert  was  placed  upon  the  table,  and 
the  servants  retired  ;  but  Laura  listened  in  vain  for  the  subject 
in  which  she  was  so  deeply  interested.  Farming  and  manufac- 
tures, railway  and  mining  companies,  were  successfully  intro- 
duced and  languidly  discussed,  but  then  came  a  solemn  pause ; 
and  having  lingered  as  long  as  etiquette  could  possibly  allow, 
she  was  obliged  to  retire.  The  solitary  evening  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  end.  Hour  after  hour  wore  away,  and  still  the 
gentlemen  in  the  dining-room  continued  in  earnest  conversation. 
Laura  ventured  twice  to  summon  them,  but  finding  the  message 
disregarded,  gave  up  the  attempt,  and  after  many  endeavors 
to  amuse  herself,  forgot  her  anxiety  in  sleep.  She  was  awa- 
kened by  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall.  General  Forester  was 
taking  his  leave,  thinking  it  too  late  again  to  intrude  upon  her. 
Edward's  tones  were  so  low  as  to  be  unintelligible,  but  the 
General's  concluding  words  were  perfectly  audible, — "  Then  by 
eight  to-morrow  I  shall  hear  from  you  :"  and  the  next  minute 
his  carriage  drove  off. 

Unable  to  restrain  her  eagerness,  Laura,  after  waiting  a 
few  moments,  hastened  into  the  hall  to  meet  her  husband,  but 
he  was  not  there.  She  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  study,  but 
received  no  answer ;  and  was  going  back  to  the  drawing-room 
again,  when,  the  hall-door  being  open,  she  caught  sight  of  him 
in  the  colonnade.  He  was  pacing  it  with  rapid  strides,  his  arms 
folded  upon  his  breast ;  and  the  cold  light  of  the  moon,  as  it  fell 
upon  his  noble  features,  so  deepened  their  expression  of  thought 
and  anxiety,  that  Laura  became  alarmed. 

"Are  you  ill,  Edward  V  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  arresting  his 
progress. 

Edward  started,  as  if  recalled  from  a  dream.  "  111,  my  love  1 
no  ;  why  should  you  think  so  ]" 

"  But  you  are  ill  ;  you  look  so — pray  come  in." 
'  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  be  afraid  of  on  such  a  night  as 
this,"  he  replied  ;  and  he  pointed  to  the  glittering  heavens  ;  "  but 
it  is  too  late  for  you  to  remain." 

I  could  not  rest  even  if  I  were  to  leave  you  ;  besides,  EJ- 
xard,  your  thoughts  concern  us  both." 


GERTRUDE,  137 


"  Indirectly,  perhaps  ;  but  politics  are  not  a  woman's  business. 
I  merely  wish  to  consider  something  General  Forester  has  been 
saying." 

"And  to  decide  that  to-morrow  you  will  consent  to  stand  for 
tbe  county,"  added  Laura. 

"  Where  did  you  hear  it  1"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  I  thought  it  was 
merely  a  question  of  private  business  between  the  General  and 
myself." 

"  It  has  lonjj  been  considered  a  matter  of  course  by  every  one ; 
and  this  you  know  quite  well,  Edward  ;  but  my  first  intelligence 
of  the  dissolution  was  from  the  Priory." 

"And  what  did  they  say  there]"  inquired  Edward,  with 
eagerness. 

"  Approved  entirely,  of  course — all,  that  is,  but  Edith." 

"  Edith  !  did  she  object  ]  what  reason  did  she  give  '" 

"  None  ;  at  least  none  that  I  could  understand  ;  but  she  chilled 
me  by  her  manner,  and  teased  me  with  her  words,  and  so  I  came 
away  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  She  must  have  said  something,  though.  Did  she  think  me 
unfitted  ]" 

"  No,  nothing  of  that  kind.  It  appeared  to  be  some  notion 
of  the  expense  which  she  had  in  her  head  ;  and  then  she  talked 
about  private  duties.  Stop,  I  think  I  can  recollect  the  whole 
sentence  ;  it  was  a  sort  of  message  to  you.  I  was  to  tell  you 
that  there  was  a  private  duty  which  was  more  imperative  than  a 
public  one." 

The  words  were  an  abstract  of  Mr.  Dacre's  arguments ;  and 
Bdward,  shrinking  from  their  truth,  turned  away,  unwilling  to 
hear  more.  Laura  watched  him  in  silence,  and  then,  fearful  lest 
his  determination  should  be  about  to  fix  in  a  direction  contrary  to 
her  wishes,  again  ventured  to  interrupt  him. 

"  You  consider  that  women  have  no  concern  in  politics,"  she 
said,  putting  her  arm  within  his ;  "  and  yet  you  are  anxious  to 
know  the  opinion  of  your  mother  and  sisters  ;  and  have  you  no 
thought  also  for  your  wife  ?" 

"  It  is  because  1  think  of  her  too  much,  that  I  do  not  speak  to 
her  on  the  subject,"  replied  Edward,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Only 
say  that  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  you,  and  I  shall  not  be 
afraid  to  tell  you  what  I  have  resolved  upon." 

"  Not  to  decline!"  exclaimed  Laura,  in  a  tone  of  extreme  dis- 
appointment ;  "  you  could  not  have  been  so  foolish." 

"So  wise,  rather;— 80  willing  to  sacrifice  every  thing — am- 
bition, and  fame,  and  influence,  for  the  interest  of  one  who  is 
(le;ircr  to  me  than  my  own  life." 

"And  do  you  think,*'  exclaimed  Laura,  pausing  suddenly  in 
her  walk,  "that  your  wife  would  be  unwilling  to  risk  the  same 
c  Hiscquences  as  yourself,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  you  what  you 


138  GERTRUDE. 


ought  to  be  ?  Would  it  not  be  worth  any  sacrifice  to  know  that 
your  talents  were  estimated, — to  feel  that  you  were  honored 
throughout  the  whole  country'?  What  can  the  consideration  of 
a  few  paltry  thousands  be  to  such  a  prospect  as  yours,  if  you 
only  consent  to  come  forward  V 

Edward  was  silent ;  but  he  gazed  with  a  feeling  of  love  and 
admiration,  mingled  with  something  of  compassion,  upon  Laura's 
voung  and  lovely  features,  lighted  up  with  an  enthusiasm,  which, 
though  false  in  its  origin,  might  be  directed  to  so  much  good  ; 
and  drawing  her  towards  him,  said  gently,  "  Laura,  you  will  not 
ask  me  to  do  wrong — your  husband  could  refuse  you  nothing." 

"  Then  you  will  not  refuse  me  this,"  exclaimed  Laura;  eager- 
ly seizing  upon  the  weakness  caused  by  her  own  fascination, 
while  the  recollection  of  Miss  Forester's  brilliant  prophecies 
came  vividly  before  her.  "  It  is  the  first,  the  sole  object  of  my 
wishes  ;  and  it  is  not  for  myself  alone, — it  is  for  the  good  of 
thousands  ;  you  have  yourself  said  it.  What  is  to  become  of 
your  resolution,  dearest  Edward,  if  you  shrink  from  the  contest 
because  you  will  not  incur  the  expense  V 

Edward  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  eyes,  and  sighed  deeply ; 
and  little  did  Laura  guess  the  bitterness  of  the  struggle  which 
was  then  passing  in  his  breast — the  last  dying  effort  of  duty  to 
regain  its  power.  "  Laura,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you  are  urging 
me  to  a  step,  which  when  once  taken,  cannot  be  retraced.  Are 
you  indeed  sure  that  you  will  never  be  inclined  to  repent  having 
done  it  1" 

"  Never  !"  answered  Laura,  earnestly.  "  Whatever  trouble 
or  anxiety  it  may  cause,  I  can  never  look  back  with  regret  upon 
having  entreated  you  to  place  yourself  in  the  position  for  which 
your  fortune  and  talents  have  so  evidently  fitted  you.  But  after 
all,  Edward,  why  are  you  to  be  ruined  by  acting  as  thousands 
have  done  before  you,  who  had  not  half  your  means  ?" 

"  It  need  not  oe  ruin,"  replied  Edward,  attempting  to  smile ; 
"  certainly  it  would  not  be,  if  General  Forester's  offer  were  ac- 
cepted." 

"  What  offer  1  What  has  he  said  1  You  can  have  no  secrets 
now  from  me." 

"  He  proposes  that  the  expenses  should  be  borne  by  the  gentle- 
men of  the  county,  who  are  willing  to  support  me  ;  and  the  plan 
is  plausible,  but  Mr.  Dacre  suggested  objections." 

'■  And  have  you  really  been  consulting  Mr.  Dacre?"  exclaimed 
Laura ;  and  there  was  something  of  scorn  in  her  light,  silvery 
laugh.  "  Have  you  determined  upon  making  him  your  oracle  in 
an  affair  which  requires  mere  common  sense  and  knowledge  of 
the  world  '!" 

"  I  do  not  make  him  my  oracle,"  replied   Edward,  proudly 
"  I  would  make  no  man  such." 


GERTRUDE.  139 


"  Then  why  attach  such  weight  to  his  opinion  1  It  is  but  the 
decision  of  one  man,  and  there  are  hundreds  who  would  be  againsf 
him." 

Edward  made  no  answer.  The  decision  of  that  one  man  was, 
he  well  knew,  the  decision  of  an  unbending,  conscientious  mind  ; 
and  as  the  impression  of  the  morning's  conversation  returned  in 
full  force,  once  more  his  wavering  resolution  might  have  been 
fixed,  but  for  the  jealousy  of  Mr.  Dacre,  suggested  by  Laura's 
observation. 

"  It  is  not  worthy  of  you,  Edward,"  she  continued  ;  "  and 
when  you  see  what  opportunities  of  good  you  have  lost,  it  will 
not  satisfy  yo'u  to  remember  that  you  gave  them  up  merely  be- 
cause you  chose  to  follow  Mr.  Dade's  dictation,  rather  than  your 
own  judgment." 

"  But  what  will  he  think  when  he  finds  that  I  have  so  soon 
changed  my  determination  !" 

"  Rather,  what  will  the  world  think  when  it  is  known  that  you 
have  made  it  !" 

"  The  world,"  repeated  Edward,  mournfully  ;  and  walking  a 
few  paces  aside,  he  leant  against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  colon- 
nade. For  some  minutes  he  continued  silent,  listening  to  the 
plashing  of  the  fountains  in  the  garden,  as  their  slender  columns 
rose  into  the  still  air,  and  then  fell  sparkling  in  the  moonlight,  into 
their  marble  basins,  while  his  gaze  was  fixed  intently  on  the  deep 
blue  sky,  through  which  the  moon  was  tranquilly  sailing,  undim- 
med  by  even  a  passing  shadow.  "  It  is  a  glorious  night,"  he 
said  at  length,  as  Laura  drew  near  to  him.  "  Is  it  not  strange 
that  we,  upon  whom  such  beauty  has  been  lavished,  should  be  so 
insensible  to  it  V 

Laura  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  "Do  you  mean,"  said  she, 
"  that  because  we  have  been  speaking  on  other  subjects,  we  are 
therefore  unable  to  feel  how  lovely  it  is?" 

"  We  do  not  fee.  it,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  it  is  too  calm — too 
pure.  What  has  the  world  to  do  with  the  moon  and  stars,  and 
i  In'  unutterable  vastness  of  the  heavens  !" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Laura.  "  If  it  is  wrong  to 
think  of  the  world,  why  should  we  have  been  sent  to  live  in  it  1" 

"  1  did  not  say  it  was  wrong,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  but  it  is  so 
Btrange — so  incomprehensible.  Tell  me,  Laura, —  is  not  the  bus- 
tle of  the  election  more  important  in  your  eyes  than  all  the  beauty 
Of  nature  1" 

"  Perhaps  so,  at  this  moment,"  replied  Laura  ;  "  but  it  is 
natural." 

"Yes,  natural,  perfectly  natural  ;  but  that  itself  is  the  cause 
of  wonder." 

"  It  is  not  BO  to  me,"  replied  Laura.  "  The  election  is  noth- 
ing, but  you  are  every  thing." 


J 40  GERTRUDE. 


"  Are  you  sure,  dearest,"  said  Edward,  "  that  it  is  only  forme 
you  are  anxious  1" 

"  Do  not  ask  that  question  again,"  replied  Laura  ;  "  it  implies 
distrust.  If  I  have  visions  of  distinction,  they  cannot  be  for  my- 
self; I  am  but  a  woman,  and  fame  can  be  nothing  to  me." 

"  But  we  can  be  happy  without  fame,"  said  Edward,  in  a  tone 
which  evidently  showed  his  willingness  that  the  assertion  should 
be  contradicted. 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  and  again  her  clear,  sweet  voice 
was  marred  by  an  accent  of  sarcasm  ;  "  and  we  may  be  happy  in 
a  hovel,  laboring  with  our  hands  for  our  daily  bread.  Philoso- 
phers tell  us  so — Mr.  Dacre  is  a  philosopher." 

"  If  there  were  no  obstacles "  began  Edward,  pursuing  his 

own  train  of  thought  aloud,  rather  than  replying  to  his  wife's  ob- 
servation. 

"  1  do  not  see  them,"  interrupted  Laura;  "  and  surely  I  mu&t 
be  a  better  judge  than  Mr.  Dacre  ;  he  cannot  be  as  intimately 
acquainted  with  all  that  concerns  you  as  I  am." 

Edward's  conscience  painfully  smote  him.  His  first  want  of 
moral  courage  in  not  acquainting  Laura  with  the  encumbered 
state  of  his  property  was  beginning  to  work  its  punishment ;  for 
the  only  reason  which  could  satisfy  her  of  the  propriety  of  his 
refusal  was  truth,  and  truth  it  seemed  now  impossible  to  tell.  To 
confess  that  he  had  deceived  her  would,  he  felt,  be  a  degradation  ; 
yet  her  implicit  reliance  upon  his  sincerity  was  more  galling  than 
the  keenest  reproach.  Besides,  he  was  becoming,  every  instant, 
more  and  more  convinced  that  the  obstacles  of  which  he  spoke 
were  not  insurmountable.  At  the  distance  of  several  hours' Mr. 
Dacre's  suggestions  were  seen  through  a  dim,  unsubstantial  haze, 
while  General  Forester's  baits  hung  rich  and  glittering  before 
him.  He  had  been  promised  the  support  of  almost  every  man  ot 
consequence  in  the  county  ;  flattered  with  insidious  praises  of  his 
talents,  bribed  by  the  hope  of  lucrative  and  honorable  appoint- 
ments ;  and  now  he  required  but  one  more  inducement  to  deter- 
mine the  balance,  and  this  was  Laura's  entreaty  ;  and  Laura's 
natural  inclinations  had  been  strengthened  by  Miss  Forester's 
influence,  and  Miss  Forester's  influence  was  mainly  to  be  attrib- 
uted to  Edith's  neglect.  How  little  can  we  discover  of  the  se- 
cret chain  of  human  events !  and  how  little  did  Edith  imagine, 
as  she  sat  alone  in  her  chamber,  dwelling  in  bitterness  of  heart 
upon  the  fatal  step  her  brother  was  meditating,  that  her  own 
conduct  was  one  of  the  ultimate  causes  of  the  decision  he  was 
about  to  make  !  Laura  perceived  the  wavering  of  her  husband's 
mind,  and  well  knew  how  to  take  advantage  of  it.  It  was  not 
the  first  occasion  on  which  she  had  exerted  her  power  over  hia 
affections  to  gain  an  object  desired  ;  and  now,  gently  forcing  hira 
to  re-enter  the  house,  she  led  him  into  the  drawing-room,  and 


GERTRUDE.  141 


seating  herself  by  his  side,  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  smile 
of  such  exquisite  sweetness,  that  a  man  of  far  greater  strength 
of  mind  than  Edward  might  easily  have  found  his  resolution 
shaken  ;  and  then  she  said, — 

"  For  your  wife's  sake,  Edward  ;  it  is  the  first  wish  of  her 
heart." 

Edward's  countenance  was  grave,  but  his  tones  were  yielding, 
as  he  replied  :  "  And  when  I  am  taxed  with  imprudence  and  am- 
bition, will  my  wife  uphold  my  cause  ?  Or,  if  otr.ers  undertake 
my  expenses,  will  she  answer  that  my  affairs  shall  be  conducted 
in  an  honorable  manner  ?" 

"  This  is  beyond  my  comprehension,"  exclaimed  Laura,  laugh- 
ing. "  You  have  been  talking  to  Mr.  Dacre,  Edward,  till  you 
are  becoming  as  visionary  as  himself.  Do  tell  me  all  his  objec- 
tions in  a  few  words." 

"  He  allows  that  there  are  but  two — the  expense  being  one  ; 
this  would  in  a  measure  be  done  away  by  accepting  General 
Forester's  proposal  ;  but  the  next  difficulty  seems  to  be,  that  it 
the  management  of  the  affair  is  to  be  taken  out  of  my  hands,  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  put  a  stop  to  any  thing  I  may  think  wrong  in 
tiie  way  in  which  it  is  carried  on." 

"  How  extremely  absurd  !"  exclaimed  Laura  :  "  so  like  Mr. 
Dacre's  ultra-particularity  ;  as  if  it  were  possible  to  have  an 
election  conducted  without  things  being  done  to  which  one  must 
shut  one's  eyes.  And  so,  Edward,  you  will  throw  away  your 
greatest  chance  of  being  really  useful  to  your  country,  upon  a 
mere  scruple  of  conscience,  which  common  sense  must  at  once 
condemn  1" 

Edward  did  not  exactly  see  the  truth  of  this  observation,  birt 
it  was  given  authoritatively,  and  sounded  well  ;  and  he  was  not 
inclined  to  contradict  it.  "  I  must  own,"  he  replied,  "  that  Mr. 
Dacre's  arguments  do  not  strike  me  as  unanswerable.  It  would 
be  at  my  option  to  retire  if  I  saw  things  going  on  in  a  manner 
which  I  disapproved." 

"  Certainly  it  would,"  exclaimed  Laura;  "and  the  example 
then  would  be  more  valuable  than  all  which  you  do  or  say  now." 

"  should  retire,  undoubtedly,"  repeated  Edward  ;  "  nothing 
would  induce  me  to  allow  the  horrid  system  of  bribery  and  wick- 
edness which  generally  accompanies  an  election  ,  ind  I  own  1 
should  be  glad  to  show  the  world  that  a  business  ot  this  nature 
may  be  carried  on  on  high  principles." 

Laura  placed  a  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  and  put  a  pen  into 
his  hand.  Edward  still  hesitated.  "Mr.  Dacre  will  think  it 
very  strange." 

"Still  Mr.  Dacre!"  exclaimed  Laura,  impatiently.  "I  did 
not  think  you  were  to  be  governed  so  easily." 

The  arrow  was  rightly  aimed.     Fear  of  being  led  was   Ed 


M2  GERTRUDE. 


ward's  most  vulnerable  point ;  and  taking  up  the  pen,  he  com- 
menced a  letter  to  General  Forester.  Laura  leaned  over  him  as 
he  proceeded,  strengthening  his  resolution  by  insisting  upon  the 
benefit  to  be  derived  from  such  an  example  as  his  must  necessa- 
rily be  ;  and  when  the  letter  was  concluded,  Edward  delivered 
it  to  his  servant,  with  strict  injunctions  that  it  was  to  be  sent  to 
the  Grange  before  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning,  ind  retired  to 
rest  with  scarcely  a  doubt  that  he  had  acted  nobly  and  conscien- 
tiously. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

When  Edith  met  Mr.  Dacre  after  the  first  public  announce- 
ment of  Edward's  intentions,  it  was  in  the  drawing-room  of  the 
Priory,  and  in  the  company  of  strangers,  where  private  conversa 
lion  was  impossible  ;  and  nothing  but  an  earnest  pressure  of  tne 
hand  showed  that  he  understood  and  felt  for  her  uneasiness.  The 
chances  of  the  election  were  then  under  discussion,  and  she  was 
compelled  to  listen  with  apparent  indifference  to  hopes,  fears,  and 
congratulations,  which  were  all  equally  painful  ;  until  Mr.  Dacre, 
with  a  tact  and  delicacy  peculiar  to  himself,  led  the  conversation 
from  the  election  in  particular  to  elections  in  general,  and  from 
thein  to  the  political  subjects  of  the  day,  and  the  customs  and 
habits  of  foreign  countries ;  and  Edith  was  again  at  ease.  One 
look,  one  more  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  as  they  parted,  told 
her  gratitude  ;  and  then,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  the  subject  was 
avoided  during  several  succeeding  interviews.  Both  felt  tKat 
conversation  was  useless,  and  could  not  be  entered  into  without 
throwing  reproach  upon  Edward.  But  Mr.  Dacre,  though  a  si- 
lent, was  not  an  unobservant  spectator  of  what  was  passing, 
and  each  day  gave  him  more  reason  to  apprehend  the  conse- 
quences of  Edward's  weakness.  Allingham  was  now  the  cen- 
tre of  attraction  to  the  whole  neighborhood  :  for  Mr.  Courte- 
nay,  with  lavish  hospitality,  opened  his  house  not  only  to  his 
friends,  but  to  his  most  distant  acquaintances  ;  and,  casting 
iside  his  weekly  bills,  contented  himself  with  the  belief  that  it 
was  absurd  to  think  of  expense  at  such  a  moment, — the  elec- 
tion must  cost  him  something,  and  it  was  better  to  let  every 
thing  take  its  course,  and  do  what  was  absolutely  necessary, 
without  making  himself  uneasy  as  to  the  result.  And  Laura 
entirely  agreed.  She  was  now  in  her  element ;  admired,  court- 
ed, flattered,   caressed,   by  all   who    sought  their    own   intercsJ 


GERTRUDE.  143 

through  Edward's  advancement,  and  by  many  who,  with  greater 
disinterestedness,  were  captivated  by  her  beauty,  grace,  and  viva- 
city. Every  day  she  was  assured  of  the  certainty  of  Edward's 
success,  and  that,  when  once  in  Parliament,  he  would  necessarily 
be  placed  among  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  age  ;  and  with 
her  youthful  ignorance,  and  warm  affections,  she  implicitly  be- 
lieved all  that  was  told  her,  and  already  began  to  contemplate  the 
duties  which  must  devolve  on  the  wife  of  a  Secretary  of  State,  or, 
it  might  be,  the  first  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  During  this  time, 
Edith  withdrew  herself  more  and  more  from  her  own  family  cir- 
cle, and  found  her  greatest  relief  in  solitude  at  home,  and  active 
exertion  abroad.  She  wrote  also  frequently  to  Gertrude  ;  for 
the  advantages  of  the  election  were  in  themselves  so  doubtful, 
that  she  was  able,  without  any  breach  of  confidence,  to  express 
her  disapprobation  ;  and  Gertrude's  letters  in  return  were  so 
considerate,  so  full  of  gentleness  and  sympathy,  that,  at  times, 
Edith  felt  as  if  the  diminution  of  her  brother's  regard  was  re- 
paid by  the  increased  affection  between  herself  and  her  absent 
sister.  But  in  that  one  word  "absent,"  was  contained  the  great 
obstacle  to  her  comfort.  No  love,  no  interest,  however  sincere, 
could  make  amends  for  the  want  of  daily  intercourse  ;  and  once 
Edith  was  on  the  point  of  writing  to  entreat  that  Gertrude  would 
come  to  them  ;  if  it  were  only  for  a  few  weeks  ;  but  the  same 
day's  post  brought  such  painful  accounts  of  Mrs.  Heathfield's 
debility  and  suffering,  that  she  felt  it  would  be  selfish  even  to 
indulge  the  wish.  Unfortunately,  it  was  on  that  morning  also 
that  the  nomination  day  was  publicly  announced,  and  this  alone 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  depress  her  :  for  while  all  others 
were  in  the  highest  spirits,  delighting  in  the  brightness  of  Ed- 
ward's prospects,  she  believed  that  they  were  delusive.  Miss 
Forester  especially  was  full  of  ilattering  prophecies  ;  and  feel- 
in lt  delighted  at  Mr.  Dacre's  more  frequent  visits  to  the  Grange, 
which  she  attributed  entirely  to  his  increasing  regard  for  her- 
self and  her  father,  she  rejoiced  equally  in  the  prospect  of  ex- 
citement and  gayety  for  the  present,  and  the  hope  of  a  splendid 
legacy,  if  not  a  fortune,  for  the  future  ;  while  she  flitted  between 
Allingham,  and  the  Grange,  and  the  Priory,  as  unceasingly  as 
if  every  thing  depended  upon  her  gossiping  information  of  what 
was  going  on.  Edith  spent  a  part  of  the  morning  alone,  an- 
ring  Gertrude's  letter;  and  then,  carefully  stealing  into  the 
dining-room,  when  she  was  sure  thai  every  one  else  had  left  it, 
ate  her  hasty  and  uncomfortable  luncheon,  and  went  out  as 
usual  to  visit  some  poor  people.  Among  them,  old  Martha 
bad  the  chief  claim  upon  her  attention.  The  illness  with  which 
bin:  was  attacked  was  rapidly  gaining  ground,  and  every  day 
drought  -one:  fresh  Bymptom  of  declining  strength  and  powers. 
Kd;ih  willingly  g  ive  hi  t  all  the  time  thai  could  be  spared  from 


144  GERTRUDE. 


her  other  engagements,  and  was  thankful  to  perceive  that  the 
secret  feelings  of  gratitude  and  devotion,  which  had  occasion 
ally  been  hidden  by  the  old  woman's  roughness  of  manner,  had 
now  the  effect  of  softening  her  natural  infirmity  of  temper,  and 
enabling  her  to  bear  her  trials  with  patience.  Yet  there  was 
an  oppressive  contrast  between  the  careless  merriment,  the  stir 
and  interest,  which  surrounded  Edith's  domestic  life,  and  the 
awful  truths  so  clearly  brought  to  view  as  she  stood  by  the  poor 
old  woman's  sick  bed.  Even  when  repentance  and  faith  gave 
an  earnest  of  happiness  to  come,  it  was  impossible  to  watch  in 
silence  the  sinking  struggles  of  a  spirit  about  to  appear  before 
its  Maker,  and  not  to  feel  that  death,  and  eternity,  and  the  in- 
ward preparation  of  the  soul,  were  the  realities  of  existence,  and 
fame  and  riches  nothing  but  the  delusions  of  a  perishing  world  ; 
and  though,  happily  for  Edith's  peace  of  mind,  she  did  not  under- 
stand the  share  which  Edward  had  had  in  aggravating  Martha's 
sufferings,  it  was  with  a  feeling  approaching  to  terror  that,  in  the 
midst  of  light  words,  and  gay  smiles,  she  sometimes  recalled  the 
image  of  the  dying  woman,  and  involuntarily  placed  it  in  stern 
contrast  with  those  about  her,  outwardly  so  different — but  soon, 
it  might  be,  to  be  brought  into  the  same  condition. 

There  were  seasons  when  she  could  almost  have  envied 
them  their  thoughtlessness.  Yet  she  had  no  cause.  Edward 
himself,  in  the  height  of  his  popularity,  and,  according  to  all 
human  probability,  about  to  attain  his  highest  wishes,  had 
moments,  and  even  hours  of  suffering  to  which  Edith's  anxieties 
were  as  nothing.  He  had  plunged  into  the  whirlpool,  and  he  was 
carried  on  without  his  will,  but  not  without  his  knowledge.  Mr. 
Dacre's  words  were  realized  ;  and  he  was  no  longer  master  of 
his  own  actions.  With  a  sense  of  honor  almost  fastidious,  he 
was  dragged  into  the  trickery  of  an  election  ;  forced,  if  not  to 
say  and  do  himself,  yet  to  consent  that  others  should  say  and  do 
for  him,  things  from  which  both  his  taste  and  his  principles  re- 
volted. He  had  put  himself  into  the  hands  of  a  party,  without 
inquiring  into  their  intentions,  and  his  punishment  was  bitterly 
felt.  The  idea  of  drawing  back, — that  one  point  on  which  he 
had  dwelt  so  much  beforehand, — did  at  times  cross  his  mind, 
but  it  was  rejected.  The  interest  of  his  friends,  and  his  own 
honor,  were  at  stake  ;  for,  after  the  support  that  had  been  ten- 
dered and  accepted,  he  felt  bound  to  carry  the  contest  to  its  con- 
clusion. What  the  event  would  be,  his  supporters  did  not  seem 
to  doubt ;  but  the  possibility  of  sacrificing  so  much,  and  gaining 
nothing  in  return,  sometimes  crossed  Edward's  mind  with  a  pang 
of  dread ;  and  then  he  exerted  himself  more,  and  gave  way  to 
whatever  was  proposed,  and  at  last  wrought  himself  up  to  a 
pitch  of  feverish  excitement  which  carried  him  through  any 
difficulties,    but    also   made    him    sink    under    any  temptations 


GERTRUDE.  I4ii 


And  time  fled  swiftly  on,  affording  but  few  and  transient  intervals 
for  thought,  till  the  night  preceding  the  nomination  day.  The 
midnight  clock  had  struck,  and  the  household  at  Allingham  were 
gone  to  rest.  Silence,  and  the  semblance  of  peace,  reigned 
throughout  the  mansion  ;  but  a  light  still  gleamed  through  the 
window  of  one  room,  where,  seated  at  a  table  covered  with  pa- 
pers, Edward  was  engaged  in  writing.  It  was  but  a  calculation 
of  votes  which  he  was  making,  for  the  fifth  time,  on  that  day  ; 
but  his  thoughts  were  intently  occupied,  and  without  his  notice 
the  door  of  the  apartment  was  softly  opened,  and  Laura,  gliding 
into  the  room,  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Edward,  this  must  not  be  ;  you  will  never  be  able  to  stand 
the  fatigue  of  to-morrow.     Why  should  you  sit  up  longer  ?" 

"Because  I  cannot  sleep.    When  to-morrow  is  over " 

"  And  the  polling-days,"  added  Laura. 

"  To-morrow  will  perhaps  decide.  Mr.  Vivian  is  sure  to  re- 
sign if  he  sees  the  case  is  hopeless." 

"  Then  all  anxiety  may  be  at  rest  in  a  few  hours."1  exclaimed 
Laura,  and  her  face  brightened  ;  "  and  we  shall  be  thankful  and 
happy.     You  could  not  bear  this  life  long." 

"  Bear  it !  No,  indeed  ;  but  Laura,  there  may  be  something 
worse,  if  1  fail." 

"  Impossible  !  you  have  reckoned  every  chance  of  disappoint- 
ment." 

"  But  if  I  should  ?»' 

"  Why  mention  it,  or  think  of  it  ?"  said  Laura. 

"  Only  tell  me  how  you  should  feel ;  I  shall  be  less  uneasy  if 
I  know  you  are  prepared  for  every  thing." 

"  But  I  am  not  prepared  ;  I  never  should  be.  After  the  trouble, 
and  the  exertion,  and  the " 

"What]" 

"  The  misery,  I  was  going  to  say  ;  but  it  seems  too  strong  a 
word." 

'■  It  is  misery  !"  exclaimed  Edward  :  "  if  I  could  have  known 
one-half  of  what  I  have  had  to  bear,  I  should  never  have  ven- 
tured upon  the  undertaking." 

"  And  to  fail  after  all,"  said  Laura;  "it  could  not  be." 

Edward  rested  his  head  upon  his  hand  :  it  was  one  of  his 
short  intervals  of  repentance,  and  the  errors  which  he  had  been 
striving  to  banish  from  his  mind  crowded  before  him.  Laura 
leant  over  him,  and  kissed  his  forehead,  and  endeavored  to  cheer 
him  by  repeating  the  almost  certainty  of  success  ;  but  it  was  not 
the  comfort  which  Edward  needed. 

"  This  is  weakness  in  you,"  she  said,  at  length  ;  "  who  would 
imagine,  t<>  see  you  as  you  have  been, — as  you  will  be  again  to- 
morrow, that  fear  could  have  such  power  over  your  mind  !" 

"Oh!    Laura,"    ex*»lai d    Edward,  '-how  little  you  know 

7 


14G  GERTRUDE. 


Who  can  judge  but  myself  whether  the  prize  is  worth  the  sacri- 
fice l" 

"  I  can,"  said  Laura,  firmly.  "  When  the  day  is  gained,  and 
you  feel  that  you  have  the  power  of  doing  good  to  thousands, 
yc<u  will  laugh  at  your  own  doubts." 

"  Good,"  repeated  Edward,  thoughtfully  ;  "  if  I  could  be  sure 

of  that " 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you,"  said  Laura.  "  This  is  but  the  dis- 
trust of  a  morbid  mind.  You  shall  not  write  any  more,"  and  she 
took  the  paper  from  his  hands. 

"  I  must  look  over  it  once  again,"  said  Edward,  with  a  deep 
sio-h.  "  I  am  not  satisfied.  What  did  you  do  with  the  other  cor- 
rected list  V 

Laura  began  searching  amongst  a  collection  of  books  on  a  side 
table,  and  after  some  moments  took  up  a  long  roll  of  papers. 
She  brought  it  to  the  light,  but  it  was  not  the  list  of  voters, — it 
was  the  plan  for  Torrington  church,  and  she  was  about  to  throw 
it  aside,  when  Edward  unfolded  it.  The  design  was  his  own, 
and  many  were  the  hours  of  enjoyment  it  had  afforded  him. 
"  But  now," — Laura  spoke  his  thoughts  as  she  unrolled  the  list 
of  voters,  which  she  had  just  found,  and  placed  it  by  the  side  of 
the  church — "that  is  gone  by,"  she  said  :  "it  can  never  be  done." 

"Why  should  you  say  so!"  inquired  Edward,  with  something 
of  irritation  in  his  manner. 

"  Because  it  is  impossible.  Even  I,  with  my  careless  notions, 
can  see  that :  but,  dearest  Edward,  you  look  really  unhappy,  as 
if  you  had  done  something  wrong ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  but  ex- 
changing one  duty  for  another." 

For  once,  Edward  was  deaf  to  the  flattering  sweetness  of  his 
wife's  accents.     "  Leave  !  leave  me  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Then  you  will  not  sit,  foreboding  evil,  Edward.  Remember, 
you  have  intended  only  to  do  good." 

Edward's  answer  was  a  hasty  motion  of  his  hand,  and  Laura 
saw  by  his  countenance  that  she  must  not  urge  him  farther.  She 
did  leave  him  to  the  trial  of  his  own  thoughts  ;  and  it  was  not  till 
morning  dawned  that  Edward's  mingled  agitation  and  remorse 
were  subdued,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  to  gain  a  few  hours'  rest, 
before  the  coming  fatigue  of  the  day. 

The  election  morning  shone  bright  and  beautiful — a  dazzling 
sun  and  an  unclouded  sky — and  Edward,  forgetting  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  previous  night,  felt  the  flush  of  exultation  as  he  wel- 
comed his  friends  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  listened  to  the  con- 
fident assurances  of  success  which  reached  him  on  all  sides. 
The  numbers  had  been  calculated  again  and  again ;  every 
doubtful  vote  had  been  set  aside,  and  the  lowest  computation 
made  ;  yet  a  large  majority  was  fully  anticipated  on  the  first 
day's  poll. 


GERTRUDE.  147 

"  And  without  doubt,"  said  General  Forester,  who  had  been 
talking  in  a  mysterious  under-tone  to  Edward,  in  order  to  con- 
vince the  rest  of  the  party  that  he  was  the  most  important  man 
amongst  them  ;  "  without  doubt  the  affair  will  be  ended  to-day. 
Vivian  will  of  a  certainty  withdraw.  I  heard  it  in  a  round- 
about way,  but  from  most  excellent  authority  ;  and  it  will  be 
iufift  like  him  ;  exactly  what  a  haughty  fellow  would  do.  He 
knows  what  a  victory  we  shall  gain  if  he  persists  in  carrying 
matters  to  extremities.  Your  friends  at  Elshani  are  to  have  lh<5 
earliest  intelligence,  that  they  may  ring  you  a  welcome  on  your 
return." 

Edward  smiled  incredulously,  and  could  not  promise  himself 
so  easy  a  victory  ;  but  his  spirits  were  raised  by  the  certainty  of 
those  on  whom  he  most  depended ;  and  when  the  brilliant 
procession,  with  its  long  train  of  carriages,  and  well-mounted 
horsemen,  and  waving  banners,  at  length  set  forth,  he  could 
scarcely  believe  the  possibility  of  a  defeat. 

The  day  was  one  of  interest  and  excitement  to  the  whole 
neighborhood  ;  all  who  could  find  means  of  conveyance,  and 
rooms  for  their  accommodation,  whether  feeling  personally  inte- 
rested in  the  election,  or  considering  it  merely  an  amusement  for 
the  passing  hour,  crowded  to  the  county-town,  which  was  distant 
about  four  miles,  and  amongst  them  the  first  and  the  most  anx- 
ious were  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  her  two  eldest  daughters.  But 
Edith  was  absent.  Entreaties,  and  sarcasm,  and  ridicule,  had 
been  used  in  vain.  Her  refusal  was  given  decidedly,  and  not 
quite  graciously  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Jane  had 
seated  themselves  in  a  comfortable  lounging  position,  and  were 
duly  provided  with  salts  and  eau  de  Cologne,  and  Charlotte  had 
properly  arranged  the  folds  of  her  peach-blossomed  silk  dress, 
and  given  the  final  shake  to  the  falling  feather  in  her  white  bon- 
net, the  carriage  drove  from  the  door  ;  and  Edith,  taking  up  a 
book,  resolved  to  occupy  herself  strenuously,  and  not  to  allow 
her  mind  to  dwell  upon  a  subject  so  entirely  beyond  her  control. 
But  she  had  miscalculated  her  powers.  The  words  were  before 
her  eyes,  but  they  were  not  regarded  ;  and  the  sentences  were 
in  her  thoughts,  but  they  were  not  understood  ;  and  after  half 
an  hour's  fruitless  I'fFurt,  she  turned  to  another  occupation.  This 
-  ion  proved  wearisome,  and  at  last,  with  a  faint  hope  of  relief 
from  restlessness,  she  resolved  upon  a  walk.  It  was  a  sultry, 
oppressive  afternoon  ;  a  dim  mist  was  floating  in  the  horizon,  and 
a  few  white  clouds  rising  against  the  wind,  gave  signs  of  an  ap- 
proaching thunder-storm.  There  was  a  deep  stillness  prevailing 
around  ;  even  the  hum  of  the  insects  had  ceased,  and  large 
<lo<-ks  of  buds,  forewarned  by  instinct  of  comm-jr  danger,  were 
bwiflly  wheeling  their  flight  homewards.  Hut  Edith  scarcely 
noticed  these  symptoms;  her  mind  was  wholly  engrossed,  al- 


148  GERTRUDE. 


though  her  ideas  were  wandering  and  unconnected,  turning 
from  the  present  to  the  future,  and  in  a  moment  reverting  to  the 
past,  often  without  any  apparent  chain  of  association.  Shft 
thought  of  Edward,  and  his  prospects  ;  of  the  change  which 
that  day's  success  might  make  in  his  destiny  for  life  ;  and  of  the 
pride  which  her  father  would  have  felt  in  seeing  him  occupy  a 
position  of  such  importance.  And  then  she  dwelt,  almost  with 
regret,  upon  the  total  extinction  of  the  elder  branch  of  her  fam- 
ily; and  the  painful  surprise  which  Colonel  Courtenay  would 
have  experienced,  if,  before  his  death,  he  could  have  known  how 
soon  his  name  would  be  uncared  for,  when  his  place  was  filled 
by  another.  And  again  she  recurred  to  the  future — to  the  ques- 
tion how  soon  it  might  be  the  same  with  Edward  :  and  in  the 
uncertainty  of  even  the  longest  life  the  delusion  of  earthly  hon- 
ors seemed  more  startling  to  her  reason  than  it  had  ever  done 
before  :  while  at  the  very  instant  her  heart  beat  quick  as  in 
fancy  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  Elsham  bells,  and  remem- 
bered that  a  peal  from  them  was  to  be  the  signal  of  Edward's 
triumph. 

Finding  her  anxiety  increase  as  the  time  drew  near  for  the 
rehirn  of  the  election  party,  Edith  continued  her  walk  towards 
the  village,  with  a  secret  hope  of  meeting  some  one  who  might 
voluntarily  give  her  the  information  which  she  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  ask.  Once  she  passed  the  turning  to  Martha's  cottage, 
and  felt  partly  inclined  to  go  to  her ;  but  the  hope  that  her  mind 
might  be  more  at  ease  in  another  quarter  of  an  hour,  induced 
h.^r  to  follow  her  first  intention ;  and  it  was  not  till  she  nearly 
reached  the  beginning  of  the  village,  without  meeting  a  single 
person,  that  she  decided  upon  returning.  On  approaching  the 
cottage,  the  young  girl  who  had  lately  been  Martha's  attendant 
came  out  of  it,  dressed  as  if  going  upon  an  errand.  Yet  natu- 
ral as  the  circumstance  was,  a  strange  foreboding  of  something 
sad  and  unusual  flashed,  in  an  instant,  upon  Edith's  mind.  She 
quickened  her  steps,  and  when  the  girl  drew  near,  asked  eager- 
ly, and  as  if  certain  of  the  answer,  whether  the  poor  woman 
was  much  worse.  "  They  think  she  is  dying,  Miss  Edith,"  was 
the  reply,  "  and  you  said  you  would  be  told." 

'•  Dying  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  shocked  at  the  suddenness  of  the 
intelligence,  notwithstanding  her  previous  impression.  "Why 
was  [  not  sent,  for  before  !" 

'  The  change  was  so  quick,  Miss,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  only 
within  this  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  the  doctor  was  called,  but  he 
was  out;  and  Mr.  Grantley  is  there,  and  one  or  two  of  the 
IiIjois,  and  they  are  dointr  all  they  can;  some  of  them 
thought  you  had  better  not  know,  but  I  was  sure  you  would  he 
angry  if  you  didn't." 

Edith  waited   no  longer,  and  without  inquiring  whether  Mar- 


GERTRUDE.  140 


tha  was  sufficiently  sensible  to  derive  any  comfort  from  her  pre- 
sence, hastened  forwards.  But  she  was  scarcely  prepared  for 
the  scene  which  presented  itself.  The  sick  woman  was  stretched 
upon  her  low  bed ;  her  arms  extended  upon  the  dingy  coverlet, 
and  her  hands  feebly  moving.  The  paleness  of  death  was  rest- 
ing upon  her  wrinkled  brow  and  hollow  cheek,  and  her  dim 
half-closed  eye,  and  distorted  mouth,  showed  that  the  last  Strug 
gle  of  mortality  was  at  hand.  Yet  sense  and  consciousness  stil 
lingered,  and  with  them  the  longing  for  that  support  in  the  houi 
of  trial  which  prayer  can  alone  obtain ;  and  as  Edith  lifted  the 
latch,  and  softly  entered  the  cottage,  the  first  sound  that  fell 
upon  her  ear,  mingled  with  the  moanings  of  the  suffering  wo- 
man, was  the  solemn  entreaty  to  the  "  Father  of  mercies,  and 
God  of  all  comfort,  that  he  would  look  graciously  upon  his  ser- 
vant, and  strengthen  her  with  His  Holy  Spirit." 

Edith's  natural  impulse  was  to  draw  back,  half  in  alarm, 
and  half  fearful  of  intrusion  ;  but  the  words  of  fervent  interces- 
sion calmed  her  agitation,  and  after  a  few  moments,  she  also 
knelt  to  ask  that  the  pardon  of  the  immortal  spirit  might  be 
"  sealed  in  heaven"  before  it  was  summoned  from  the  earth. 
Deep  and  earnest  was  the  petition,  and  as  it  proceeded,  poor 
.Martha's  restless  murmurings  were  stilled,  and  a  fixed  but  tran- 
quil expression  settled  upon  her  wasted  features.  Edith  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  continued 'kneeling  after  the  prayer 
was  ended.  There  was  an  awful  silence  in  the  chamber,  broken 
only  by  the  quick,  faint  breathing  of  departing  life,  and  then, 
from  without,  was  heard  a  distant,  heavy  roll  of  thunder, — an- 
other, and  another.  One  vivid  lightning-flash,  lit  up  the  rigid 
countenance  of  the  dying  woman,  and  when  it  passed  away, 
there  came,  blended  with  the  peal  of  the  advancing  storm,  a 
clear  joyous  sound  of  village  bells.  Edith  started.  One  glance 
she  cast  upon  the  bed,  and  it  told  that  all  was  over.  The  tumult 
of  life,  and  the  fearful  stillness  of  death  had  met  in  that  hour. 
One  spirit  had  passed  to  the  world  where  riches  and  honors 
are  nothing,  and  another  had  entered  with  pride  and  hope  upon 
a  new  era  of  mortal  existence — Edward  Courtenay  had  gaii  ed 
the  object  of  his  ambition. 


1  50  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

We  must  pass  over  the  space  of  four  years  before  we  again 
attempt  to  watch  the  progress  of  events  at  Allingham  and  the 
Priory.  Time,  which  produces  so  great  an  effect  upon  all 
things  gifted  with  life,  had  made  but  little  alteration  in  the  inter- 
nal appearance  of  either  place  ;  and  the  drawing-room  at  Alling- 
ham, on  the  morning  on  which  we  would  resume  our  story, 
was,  .n  its  principal  features,  such  as  it  had  been  when  Laura 
was  first  introduced  into  it,  save  only  that  her  husband's  affec- 
tion had  induced  him  to  gratify  her  wishes  to  the  utmost,  and 
open  it,  as  she  desired,  upon  the  conservatory.  Its  inmates, 
however,  were  not  so  entirely  the  same.  Laura  was  seated  at 
her  work-table,  with  a  form  as  elegant,  and  a  face  as  lovely  as 
ever  ;  but  the  careless  thoughtlessness  of  very  early  youth  had 
faded  from  her  open  brow  and  brilliant  eye  ;  and  except  when 
she  gazed,  with  a  mother's  fondness,  upon  the  beautiful  boy 
who  was  playing  at  her  feet,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  her 
heart  was  burdened  with  many  a  secret  care.  At  a  little  dis- 
tance from  her  stood  Edward,  his  countenance  expressive  of  a 
restless,  dissatisfied  mind,  and  by  his  side  a  plainly-dressed 
elderly  man,  who,  with  bent  brows  and  a  care-worn  face,  was 
turning  over  some  folded  papers  which  lay  upon  the  table. 
Edward  looked  on  without  speaking,  but  a  few  heavy  sighs 
involuntarily  escaped  him,  as  from  time  to  time  he  pondered  the 
titles  of  the  different  packets.  There  was  an  air  of  business 
and  solicitude  in  the  countenances  of  all ;  the  only  sound  ex- 
cept the  rustling  of  the  papers  which  disturbed  the  solemnity 
of  the  little  party,  being  the  occasional  laugh  of  the  merry 
child  whose  attention  seemed  fully  engrossed  by  the  presence 
ot  a  young  lady  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  who  was  seated  on 
a  sofa,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  and  beckoning  him 
towards  her.  She  had,  apparently,  but  just  entered  the  house, 
for  she  still  wore  her  walking-dress,  although  her  bonnet  was 
thrown  aside,  as  if  to  enable  her  more  easily  to  amuse  herself 
with  her  little  playfellow.  Her  figure  was  slight  and  delicate, 
and  her  face  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  high,  thoughtful  forehead, 
and  a  mouth  which,  although  indicating  great  gentleness,  beto- 
kened also  a  spirit  of  natural  energy  and  decision.  Her  com- 
plexion was  sallow,  and  her  clear,  dark  gray  eyes  told  rather  of 


GERTRUDE.  151 


a  sensible,  meditative  mind,  than  of  any  superior  quickness  of 
intellect.  Yet  Gertrude  Courtenay  was  not  a  person  to  be  seer 
and  forgotten.  Even  by  the  side  of  her  beautiful  sister-in-law, 
it  might  have  been  doubted  which  possessed  the  greatest  power 
of  awakening  interest.  At  a  first  notice,  it  would  have  been 
said  that  hundreds  in  the  world  resembled  her, — that  such  fea- 
tures were  to  be  met  with  continually  ;  a  second  glance  more 
firmly  riveted  attention,  from  the  expression  of  inward  peace 
which  pervaded  her  countenance  ;  a  third  established  as  a  cer- 
tainty that  there  must  be  something  in  her  very  different  from 
the  world ;  and  when  she  moved  and  spoke,  the  charm  was 
completed.  -There  was  no  resisting  the  winning  tones  of  that 
low  clear  voice,  the  softness  and  quietness  of  those  gentle  ac- 
tions, the  least  of  which  seemed  inspired  by  some  consideration 
for  another,  some  wish  to  give  pleasure  or  comfort.  Whether 
Gertrude's  disposition  was  naturally  lively,  had  often  been  a 
question  with  her  friends  ;  and,  on  a  slight  acquaintance,  it 
might  perhaps  have  been  supposed  that  some  suffering  in  early 
childhood  had  subdued  her  spirit,  and  cast  a  shade  over  the 
light-heartedness  of  youth;  but  it  was  an  opinion  contradicted 
by  the  mirth  which  so  frequently  lighted  up  her  eye  when  her 
manner  was  the  most  self-possessed,  and  by  the  delight  with 
which  she  was  welcomed  by  the  companions  of  her  own  age  in 
their  gayest  and  happiest  hours.  No  one  felt  her  presence  a 
restraint,  except  in  moments  of  heedless  folly,  and  then  one  look 
was  sufficient.  If  she  refused  to  smile,  the  thoughtless  laugh 
was  instantly  checked.  And  yet  Gertrude  seldom  ventured  to 
find  fault,  and  when  she  did,  it  was  with  such  humility,  such 
consciousness  of  her  own  deficiencies,  that  no  offence  could  be 
taken.  The  magic  of  her  influence  was  to  be  found,  not  in 
words, — scarcely  in  actions, — but  in  her  inward,  unceasing  re- 
membrance of  the  God  in  whose  presence  she  lived.  It  was  her 
earnest  endeavor  never  to  forget  Him,  and  the  recollection  pu- 
rified her  heart,  and  hallowed  her  daily  conduct,  until  the  care- 
less and  worldly-minded  felt  that  the  atmosphere  with  which 
she  was  surrounded  was  one  in  which  they  could  not  venture 
to  dwell. 

Even  now,  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  laughing 
child,  who  after  conquering  his  pretended  shyness  ran  eagerly 
towards  her  and  jumped  into  her  lap,  there  was  something  in 
her  countenance  which  bespoke  a  mind  that  naturally  turned  to 
subjects  beyond  the  amusement  of  the  moment.  It  seemed  to 
be  the  pressure  of  a  first  grief  that  checked  the  bright  smile 
with  which  Bhe  gazed  upon  her  little  companion,  for  there  were 
traces  of  sorrow  in  her  voice  and  manner,  as  well  as  in  her 
mourning  dress;  but  Gertrude's  affliction  was  blended  with  so 
many  thoughts  of  happiness,  that  it  could  only  cast  a  temporary 


152  GERTRUDE. 


gloom  over  her  feelings,  She  had  lost  her  aunt  about  six  weeks 
previously,  and  the  separation  from  her  best  and  earliest  friend 
was,  in  itself,  a  latter  trial.  But  Mrs.  Heathfield's  great  age 
and  weakness  had  prevented  her  for  the  last  two  years  from 
being  in  any  degree  a  companion  to  her  niece  ;  and  one  who 
had  watched  her  patient  suffering,  and  perfect  resignation, 
could  scarcely  lament  when  a  spirit  so  purified  by  earthly  trial 
was  at  length  summoned  .o  its  rest.  After  the  time  spent  in 
making  some  necessary  arrangements,  and  paying  a  short  visit 
to  a  friend  in  the  neighborhood  of  Farleigh,  Gertrude's  natural 
wish  was  to  return  lo  her  mother's  roof,  for  there  was  a  pleas- 
ure expected  in  the  home  of  her  childhood,  and  the  society  of 
her  family,  to  which,  notwithstanding  the  remembrance  of  her 
former  disappointment,  few  could  have  been  more  alive.  The 
{aw  days  she  had  as  yet  passed  at  the  Priory  had  been  so  full  of 
novelty  and  interest,  as  often  to  divert  her  mind  from  thoughts 
of  grief ;  whilst,  from  the  same  circumstances,  she  still  remained 
in  some  degree  ignorant  of  the  extent  of  those  sources  of  an- 
noyance which  lay  hidden  under  an  exterior  at  first  sight  so 
promising.  Gertrude's  return  had  been  hailed  with  delight  by 
all.  Mrs.  Courtenay  received  her  with  the  warmth  and  sinceri- 
ty of  a  mother's  affection,  and  Jane  forgot  her  illness,  and  Char- 
lotte her  sarcasm,  in  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  her,  whilst 
Edith's  spirits  rose  to  their  former  cheerfulness  in  the  prospect 
of  a  companion  who  could  understand  her  feelings.  For.  the 
time,  Gertrude  was  the  one  object  of  attraction  at  the  Priory, 
and  hardly  less  so  at  Allingham,  though  Edward  was  some- 
times conscious  of  something  uncongenial  in  the  guileless  open- 
ness of  his  sister's  disposition,  and  Laura  was  not  sure  that  she 
enjoyed  the  presence  of  one  whose  actions  were  perpetually  re- 
minding her  of  her  own  deficiencies.  The  little  boy  was  the 
great  link  between  them,  for  grief  can  often  find  solace  in  the 
simple  innocence  of  childhood,  and  no  mother  can  withstand  the 
most  endearing  of  all  attentions — that  shown  to  an  only  child. 
Neither  was  Edward  insensible  to  the  interest  taken  by  his  sis- 
ter in  the  one  object  on  which  all  his  hopes  and  all  his  ambition 
were  centred  ;  and  on  this  morning,  as  he  stood  by  the  taule, 
apparently  intent  only  upon  business,  his  eyes  often  wandered 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  forgot 
Ins  cares  whilst  watching  Gertrude's  endeavors  to  retain  her 
restless  charge. 

"  Hush  !  Charlie,  hush  !"  she  said,  softly,  as  the  spell  of  si- 
lence was  again  broken  by  a  joyous  laugh.  "  We  must  be  quiet. 
Hark  !   listen  to  my  watch." 

The  little  fellow  laid  his  head  upon  her  shoulder  and  seemed 
wrapt  in  wonder  at  the  hidden  sound  ;  and  Gertrude,  bending 
over  him,  parted  his  clustering  ringlets,  and  kissed  his  fair  d^ii- 


GERTRUDE.  15: 


cate  forehead.  "  Charlie  loves  Aunt  Gertrude  !;'  whispered  the 
child,  as  he  threw  his  arms  round  her  neck.  There  was  a  slight 
quivering  in  Gertrude's  lip,  a  momentary  glistening-  in  her  eye  ; 
perhaps  the  tone  of  innocent  affection, — even  the  affection  of  in- 
fancy,— came  home  to  her  the  more  forcibly  from  the  remem- 
brance of  all  that  she  had  lately  lost ;  and  hastily  lifting  the  little 
boy  from  her  lap,  she  moved  towards  the  distant  window  at  which 
Laura  was  working. 

"We  ought  to  beg  your  pardon,  dear  Gertrude,  for  bringing 
business  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Edward  ;  "  I  did  not  in- 
tend troubling  you  or  Laura  so  long  when  we  began  talking,  or 
I  should  hav«  gone  to  my  study." 

"  No  one  will  complain  of  the  trouble  if  you  can  be  cheerful 
about  it,"  said  Laura.  "  But  indeed,  Mr.  Rivers,  the  sight  of 
you  will  soon  be  associated  with  every  thing  that  is  depressing. 
Edward  is  not  like  himself  for  two  or  three  days  after  you  have 
teased  him  with  those  horrid  papers." 

"  Nay,  my  dear  Laura,"  replied  Edward,  "  you  must  not  say 
that  Mr.  Rivers  teases  me  ;  it  is  I  who  tease  myself.  He  is  al- 
ways begging  me  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  them." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  in  a  serious  tone  ;  "  if  I  might 
be  allowed  to  say  it  without  offending  you,  I  must  own  that  it 
would  give  me  great  satisfaction  to  feel  that  they  were  the  last 
with  which  I  should  have  any  connection." 

'Then  I  will  promise  you,"  said  Edward,  with  a  laugh  which 
sounded  hollow  and  unreal,  "since  you  have  such  an  objection 
to  them,  you  must  not  think  it  strange  if  I  trouble  others  rather 
than  yourself,  the  next  time  they  are  required." 

Mr.  Rivers  took  up  his  hat,  bowed  to  Laura,  and  walked  to  the 
door. 

"  You  understand  me,"  said  Edward  in  an  under  tone,  as  he 
held  out  his  hand  ;  "  I  can  quite  appreciate  your  kindness  ;  but 
if  this  sort  of  thing  is  painful,  why  should  you  be  worried  with  it  ?" 

"  It  is  not  painful  for  me,  only  lor  yourself,"  replied  Mr.  Ri- 
vers. "  You  do  not  know  the  end,  and  I  do.  I  have  seen,  I 
may  almost  say,  hundreds  running  a  similar  course." 

Edward  knit  his  brow,  but  in  suffering,  not  in  anger.  "  What 
would  you  have  rne  do  !      What  can  J  do!" 

"  Retrench.  It  was  my  first,  and  it  will  be  my  last  word. 
"^  mi  must  excuse  my  saying  it ;  and  we  are  not  acquaintances  of 
\  esterday." 

■•  W'am  I  must  ask,  how  is  it  to  be  managed!"  replied  Ed- 
ward. 

Mr.  Rivers  smiled  gravely  :  "  We  have  discussed  the  subjecl 
often,"  he  said:  "and  I  fear  there  is  nothing  new  to  be  brought 
forward.  I  must  wish  yon  good  morning,  now,  for  my  time  i» 
precious." 


154  GERTRUDE. 


"  Those  dreadful  lawyers  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  when  Edward 
returned  to  the  table.  "  Why  should  you  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  them?  with  Mr.  Rivers  in  particular!  he  is  a  complete  bird 
of  ill-omen." 

"  That  may  not  be  his  fault,"  replied  Edward  ;  "but  we  wil 
not  trouble  Gertrude  with  business  :  she  is  come  to  pass  the  day 
here,  of  course." 

"  Not  quite  that,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  I  expect  Edith  every 
minute,  and  then  I  have  promised  to  go  for  a  long  walk  with  her 
to  Torrington  Heath  ;  but  she  was  engaged  at  home  when  I  left 
her,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  spend  my  spare  minutes 
here." 

Laura  looked  pleased  ;  but  Edward  was  recalled  to  the  re- 
collection of  something  disagreeable  by  his  sister's  words. 
"  Torrington,"  he  repeated,  thoughtfully.  "  Oh  !  I  remember, 
now.  Those  unhappy  poachers  were  to  be  brought  here  at 
twelve,  and  it  must  be  nearly  that." 

"  Five  minutes  after,"  observed  Laura,  looking  at  her  watch, 
and  almost  the  same  instant  a  servant  entered  to  summon  his 
master  away.  Edward  gave  orders  that  the  men  should  be  taken 
to  his  study,  but  still  lingered,  as  if  unwilling  to  enter  upon  a 
painful  office. 

"  If  it  were  not  Torrington,  you  would  not  care,"  exclaimed 
Laura,  with  a  smile  which  had  in  it  something  of  the  arch  bright- 
ness of  former  days.  But  the  smile  had  lost  its  power.  Edward's 
brow  grew  darker,  and  his  manner  sterner,  and  without  noticing 
the  observation  he  left  the  room. 

When  he  was  gone,  Laura's  countenance  resumed  its  former 
expression  of  care,  and  turning  to  her  sister  she  said,  "You  will 
have  the  thanks  of  the  county  if  you  will   undertake   to  reform 
the  Torrington  people,  Gertrude.     That  is  your  mission,  1  sup 
pose." 

"  Hardly,"  replied  Gertrude,  smiling  :  "  I  really  don't  know 
why  we  are  going  there  to-day  ;  only  Edith  wished  it." 

"  1  beg  Edward  not  to  worry  himself  about  them,"  continued 
Laura  ;  "  but  he  will  do  it.  You  know  the  greater  part  of  the 
hamlet  belongs  to  him,  and  it  is  out  of  Mr.  Grantley's  parish  ;  and 
the  rector  is  a  very  old  man,  who  can  do  nothing  himself,  and 
cannot  afford  to  keep  a  curate  ;  and  the  nearest  church  is  two 
miles  distant :  so  the  people  are  left  to  themselves,  and  certainly 
they  are  a  set  of  desperate  wretches,  beggars,  and  thieves,  and 
poachers,  and  even  worse,  some  people  say.  But  what  good  can  it 
be  to  distress  one's  self  about  a  case  in  which  we  can  do  nothing  *" 
'  Yes,  if  we  rea.iy  can  do  nothing,"  said  Gertrude,  in  a  tone 
bo  gentle,  that  it  scarcely  seemed  to  imply  reproof. 

"  Is  it  not  so?"  inquired  Laura.  "Think  of  the  enormous 
claims  Edward  has  upon  him.      The  mere  expense  of  his  jarlia 


GERTRUDE.  155 


mentary  dinners,  and  his  house  in  town,  is  enough  to  ruin  him. 
And  he  is  not  like  a  common  person — people  think  so  much  of 
hiin  for  his  talents ;  he  is  forced  to  he  a  great  man,  whether  he 
will  or  not." 

Gertrude  was  not  forced  to  give  an  opinion  in  answer,  for  the 
conversation  was  changed  by  Laura's  exclamation  that  a  carriage 
was  coming  down  the  road. 

"  It  is  my  mother,"  said  Gertrude,  going  to  the  window  ;  "  she 
and  Jane  proposed  taking  a  drive  this  morning,  but  they  did  not 
say  they  were  coming  here." 

•'  They  do  not  often  favor  me,"  observed  Laura  ;  "  your  mother 
is  so  nervous,  and  Jane  such  an  invalid  ;  that  is,  according  to  her 
own  account." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  appeared,  wrapped  in  a  silk  cloak  and  furs, 
although  the  bright  April  morning  would  have  rendered  an  or- 
dinary spring  dress  oppressive  to  many  :  and  Jane  followed  with 
languishing  steps,  and  a  countenance  which  evidently  demanded 
sympathy. 

"  Ah  !  Gertrude,  are  you  here  !"  was  her  mother's  first  excla- 
mation. "  Why  did  you  not  wait  for  the  carriage  ]  it  would 
have  been  much  pleasanter.  They  persuaded  me  to  go  out  to- 
day,  my  dear  Laura,  so  I  told  the  coachman  to  drive  here;  but 
I  don't  know — your  road  is  very  steep,  it  frightens  me  to  death." 

"  Then  it  would  not  probably  have  been  agreeable  to  Gertrude," 
said  Jane  shortly,  as  she  took  possession  of  an  easy  chair. 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  Persons'  nerves 
are  very  different  when  they  are  young,  from  what  they  are  as 
they  grow  old.  Let  me  take  off  your  cloak,  dear  mamma,  or  you 
will  rind  the  change  by-and-by." 

"  Thank  you,  my  love,  perhaps  it  will  be  best.  Now,  Charlie, 
come  and  speak  to  grandmamma."  The  child  hesitated,  from 
wilfulness  and  shyness. 

"  Don't  be  naughty,  Charlie,"  said  Laura,  in  a  voice  of  mild 
entreaty.  Charlie  moved  a  few  steps  forward,  and  then  turning 
quickly  round,  ran  and  hid  bis  face  in  Gertrude's  lap.  "  Never 
mind,"  continued  Laura,  "  he  will  go  presently  ;  he  is  not  accus- 
tomed to  see  so  many  people  in  a  room,  and  1  think  he  is  cutting 
a  tooth  ;  he  has  been  so  fretful  for  the  last  few  days." 

"What  a  blessing  children's  teeth  are  to  them!"  observed 
Jane  ;  "  they  bear  the  burden  of  every  fault !" 

The  color  rose  in  Laura's  cheek. 

"Poor  little  darling!"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay.  "Have  you 
tried  the  soothing  6irup,  my  dearl  I  am  certain  it  will  do 
wonders.  My  Lrr;m<!mother  constantly  used  it.  .She  had  seven 
children,  and  most  of  them  had  strong  convulsions  in  cutting  their 
teeth.  It  was  a  great  trial  to  her,  and  only  three  lived  beyom' 
two  years." 


I5G  GERTRUDE. 


"An  additional  reason  for  Laura's  putting  faith  in  it,"  said 
Jane.  "  Gertrude,  you  seem  to  be  the  favorite  :  why  don't  you 
attempt  to  rival  our  great-grandmother's  soothing  sirup,  and  per- 
suade Charlie  to  he  a  good  boy  ?" 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  let  the  matter  rest,"  said  Gertrude. 
"Laura thinks  he  is  not  well." 

The  yielding  tone  of  this  reply  had  as  great  an  effect  upon 
Laura's  irritated  feelings  as  the  celebrated  sirup  could  possibly 
have  had  upon  her  little  boy,  and  she  immediately  begged  that 
Gertrude  would  make  him  do  what  was  right  ;  but  whether  the 
endeavor  would  have  been  successful,  was  not  destined  to  be 
known  ;  for  at  that  instant  Edward  re-appeared  followed  almost 
immediately  by  Edith. 

"Have  you  been  waiting  for  me  long,  Gertrude  V  asked  Edith, 
after  she  had  coolly  shaken  hands  with  Laura,  and  kissed  the 
child.  Gertrude's  reply  was  attentive,  as  usual,  though  at  the 
instant  her  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  the  painful  expression  of 
her  brother's  face.  His  conversation  with  his  mother  was  evi- 
dently constrained;  and  Laura,  although  lately  accustomed  to  see 
him  gloomy,  could  not  avoid  noticing  his  manner. 

"  What  have  you  done  about  the  poachers,  Edward  1"  she  in- 
quired, in  a  tone  of  greater  timidity  than  she  would  have  used 
four  years  before. 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  reply  :  "  it  is  bad  business.  My  keeper 
is  much  hurt,  and  the  affair  must  be  inquired  into  more." 

'•  Torrington  people,  I  suppose,"  said  Jane.  "  One  never  has 
a  doubt  upon  that  point." 

"  Torrington  is  not  in  this  parish,  I  believe  ?"  said  Gertrude, 
who  perceived  directly,  that  Edward  was  anxious  to  avoid  the 
subject  of  the  poachers,  and  hoped  to  turn  the  conversation  un- 
perceived. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay,  "it  is  in  the  par- 
ish of  Ringwood — old  Mr.  North's.  Your  grandfather  gave  him 
the  living — four  hundred  a-year  it  used  to  be.  Every  one  thought 
Mr.  North  would  have  died  ten  years  ago,  but  now  no  one  seems 
to  think  about  it." 

"  Poor  Torrington!"  said  Edith  ;  "it  is  a  miserable  place  ;  no 
schools,  no  clergyman,  no  any  thing." 

"  And  they  are  such  a  bad,  ungrateful  set,"  observed  Mrs. 
Courtenay.  "They  abuse  you  so  dreadfully,  my  dear  Edward. 
Miss  Forester  was  with  me  for  a  whole  hour  yesterday,  telling 
me  all  about  it.  She  says  they  grow  worse  and  worse ; 
and " 

"  Do  you  want  your  pony  carriage  this  afternoon.  Laura  1"  said 
Edward,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  interrupting  his  mother  u 
the  middh  of  a  sentence. 

"  Not  if  you  do.     I  had  settled  to  take  a  drive.' 


GERTRUDE.  157 


"  I  cannot  want  it,"  replied  Edward.  "  I  only  thought  it  might 
as  well  be  ordered  in  time,  and  perhaps  Gertrude  would  like  to 
go  with  you." 

Laura  blushed,  and  hesitated  ;  and  Gertrude  began  to  de- 
cline, saying,  "that  she  had  a  prior  engagement  witli  Edith,  but 
she  should  be  very  glad  to  take  advantage  of  the  offer  another 
day." 

"  Then  to-morrow,"  persisted  Edward.  Gertrude  again 
glanced  at  her  sister-in-law,  and  reading  her  wishes  in  her 
countenance,  laughingly  observed,  that  "  it  would  not  do  for 
such  a  busy  person  as  herself  to  form  plans  beforehand.  She 
had  undertaken  to  make  acquaintance  with  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, and  she  must  not  think  of  mere  pleasure." 

"  That  is  right,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay ;  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  like  paying  visits.  Poor  Jane  never  can,  and  Edith 
has  no  time  ;  and  so  Charlotte  is  left  alone,  and  has  to  do  it  all, 
and  I  know  we  are  sadly  rude  :  but  now  you  are  come,  Ger- 
trude, there  will  be  no  difficulty.  You  can  always  go,  since  you 
enjoy  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  exactly  enjoy  it,  dear  mamma,"  said 
Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  shall  be  very  willing  to  take  my  share  in  the 
duty." 

"  We  are  going  into  Elsham,  now,"  said  Jane  ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose you  won't  give  up  your  walk  for  the  pleasure  of  accompany- 
ing us." 

"  Impossible  !"  exclaimed  Edith.  "  It  is  the  first  walk  Ger- 
trude and  I  have  promised  ourselves.  Indeed,  Jane,  you  irms' 
not  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I  never  knew  before  there  was  any  harm  in  thinking,"  said 
Jane  :  "  but  you  need  not  be  frightened,  Edith  ;  I  am  not  going 
to  run  away  with  your  new  idol." 

'•  Not  till  the  new  idol  runs  away  with  you  herself,"  replied 
tnnle.  "  You  know,  Jane,  I  must  pay  visits  by  and  by,  and 
then  I  shall  be  most  thankful  to  any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble 
to  l'o  with  me." 

Jane  was  soothed  by  her  sister's  manner;  and,  in  a  more 
good-humored  tone  than  usual,  proposed  to  her  mother  that  the 
iage  should  he  ordered  round.  Mrs.  Courtenay  made  no 
■  •lion;  and  after  ten  minutes  spent  in  adjusting  cloaks, 
saying  :_r,i">l-l>v,  and  bribing  tin.'  little  hoy  to  good  behavior  by 
the  promise  of  sugar-plums,  the  formal  morning  visit  was  con- 
cluded. Gertrude  followed  her  mother  to  the  carriage,  to  seo 
that  she  was  comfortably  settled,  and  to  endeavor,  if  possible,  to  ar- 
range Jane's  cushion  for  the  head  in  the  way  she  deemed  indis- 
pensable ti>  her  comfort,  and  then,  with  a  smile,  hoped  they  would 
enjoy  their  drive  turned  into  the'  house  to  summon  Edith. 


15S  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  Laura,"  said  Edwsrd,  when  they  were  left  alone,  "  wh?t 
was  the  cause  of  your  repelling  manner  to  Gertrude  just  now  ? 
no  one  but  herself  would  have  endured  it." 

"  Repelling  !"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  indeed  I  did  not  mean  it  to 
be  so.     It  was  not  convenient  for  me  to  take  her,  that  was  all." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Edward,  almost  sternly,  "  you  are 
engaged  with  Miss  Forester — why  don't  you  tell  me  so  at 
once !" 

"  Because "  and  Laura  hesitated,  and  her  eye  sank  under 

her  husband's  fixed  gaze.  "  You  know  it  never  pleases  you  to 
hear  of  her,  and  therefore  I  always  think  the  less  that  is  said  the 
better." 

"  The  less  that  is  done,  I  should  say,"  replied  Edward.  "  You 
have  had  a  specimen  this  morning  of  her  gossiping  interference 
in  public  matters,  and  you  will  be  grievously  mistaken  if  you  im- 
agine it  will  be  different  in  private." 

Laura's  cheek  became  suddenly  flushed,  though  for  what  cause 
it  was  difficult  for  Edward  to  understand. 

"  You  must  forgive  me  for  speaking  in  this  way,  dearest,"  he 
added,  mildly  ;  "  but  you  know  the  subject  of  complaint  is  an  old 
one.     Miss  Forester  never  ought  to  have  been  your  friend." 

"  Cut  if  she  is,"  answered  Laura,  "  what  is  to  be  done  ?  We 
cannot  draw  back,  after  taking  her  to  London  and  introducing  her 
everywhere  as  our  friend." 

Edward  restlessly  paced  the  room,  and  after  a  pause  of  some 
instants,  exclaimed,  "And  the  General  too,  how  one  is  deceived! 
There  is  no  truth— no  sincerity "     Again  he  paused. 

"  1  es,"  replied  Laura,  desirous,  for  private  reasons,  to  turn 
the  current  of  censure  in  another  direction,  and  not  considering 
that  it  was  impossible  to  separate  the  interests  of  the  father  and 
daughter—"  the  General,  I  do  believe,  is  false.  He  will  support 
you,  Edward,  while  you  submit  to  him  implicitly,  but  the  very 
instant  you  propose  to  differ,  he  will  cast  you  off." 

■'  Let  him  do  it !"  exclaimed  Edward  ;  "  let  him  turn  against 
me  if  he   will!    I  am  not  a  person  to  submit  implicitly  to  any _ 
man,  far  less  to  a  pompous  fool,  whose  only  talent  is  intrigue.     I 
will   never  he   the   slave  of  a  party,  and  he  knows  it— they  all 
know  it,  and  that  is  the  cause  of  offence." 


GERTRUDE.  15!) 


"  It  is  so  unfair,  too,"  said  Laura,  "after  your  allowing  them 
bo  much  liberty  at  the  time  of  the  election,  and  doing  so  many 
disagreeable  things  merely  to  please  them." 

"And  what  has  been  the  consequence]"  exclaimed  E«ward 
indignantly  ;  "  I  acted  against  my  own  sense  of  honor,  because 
I  fancied  they  had  more  experience  than  n  yself,  and  now  they 
complain  of  me,  because  they  say  I  have  disappointed  their  ex- 
pectation. What  reason  had  they  to  suppose  that  because  I  lis- 
tened to  them  in  one  case  I  should  do  so  in  all  I" 

"  .Miss  Forester  says,"  began  Laura 

"  I  wish  never  to  hear  the  name  again,"  interrupted  Edward. 
''  Forgive  mermy  dear  Laura  ;  you  cannot  know  the  family  as  I 
rid  ;  your  nature  is  too  open  and  guileless  to  understand  them. 
They  are  false — false  in  word  and  in  deed  ;  and  if  it  were  possi- 
ble to  taint  the  simplicity  of  an  angel's  mind,  they  would  make 
you  false  also." 

Laura's  brilliant  color  for  an  instant  faded  to  a  deadly  hue, 
and  then  as  suddenly  returned,  while  with  a  hasty  impulse  she 
rose  from  her  seat,  and  advanced  towards  her  husband,  as  if 
about  to  speak,  but  the  resolution,  whatever  it  might  have  been, 
passed  as  rapidly  as  it  had  been  formed  ;  and  without  answering 
him,  she  occupied  herself  in  collecting  her  work  from  the  table. 
Edward's  mind  was  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  this  sudden 
change  ;  and  recurring  to  his  former  subject  of  complaint,  he  re- 
peated his  indignant  expression  at  General  Forester's  presump- 
tion, in  supposing  that  he  would  consent  to  be  an  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  any  man. 

'•  And  what  is  the  point  at  issue  between  you  V  inquired  Lau- 
ra ;  "  is  it  any  thing  of  importance  V 

"  Of  the  utmost,  vital  importance.  But  it  is  not  one  point — 
there  are  many — questions  which  concern  the  Church,  and  the 
poor,  and  the  manufacturing  districts  ;  and  on  which  the  whole 
prosperity  of  the  nation  depends  ;  and  he  and  his  party  think, 
that  because  they  supported  me  at  the  time  I  first  came  forward, 
I  am  now  to  agree  to  be  led  blindfold,  and  to  vote  just  according 
to  their  will." 

"  There  may  come  another  election  soon,"  said  Laura,  "  when 
you  will  be  better  able  to  stand  alone." 

She  slopped,  expecting  an  answer  ;  but  Edward  did  not  give 
it.  He  leaned  his  head  upon  the  mantel-piece,  as  if  struck  by 
some  overpowering  thoughts ;  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
Bound  of  footsteps  announced  the  approach  of  a  visiter  ;  and 
Laura,  with  a  conviction  that  it  must  be  Miss  Forester,  hastened 
to  prevent  her  from  intruding  herself  upon  Edward  in  his  pres- 
ent mood  of  irritation.  1. eft  alone,  Edward  roused  himself  from 
his  musing  posture,  hut  not  for  the  purpose  of  exertion,  lie 
iUK)d  for  Borne  minutes,   looking  thoughtfully  upon  the  splen 


I  (JO  GERTRUDE. 

did  furniture  of  his  drawing-room — the  gilded  couches  and  silk 
hangings,  the  marble  vases  and  mosaic  cabinets — the  varied  re- 
finements of  luxury  with  which  taste  and  extravagance  had 
filled  it;  and  then  turned  to  gaze  upon  the  beauty  so  profusely 
lavished  upon  the  fair  domain  which  owned  him  as  its  possessor. 
A  brilliant  sun-light  was  resting  upon  the  foreground  of  the 
landscape,  where  the  massive  trunks  of  the  splendid  forest  trees 
were  marked  with  glittering  lines,  and  the  young  leaves,  just 
burst  into  life,  were  sparkling  with  a  golden  hue.  Deep  shad- 
ows were  cast  upon  the  turf  by  the  outstretched  branches,  be- 
neath which  the  herded  deer  sought  refuge  from  the  noonday 
heat,  and  between  the  natural  arches  were  caught  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  distant  country,  shrouded  in  the  rich  purple 
mist,  which  veils  all  that  when  clearly  seen  might  mar  the  love- 
liness of  nature.  Edward  gazed,  but  not  in  admiration.  That 
which  a  stranger  would  have  dwelt  on  with  delight,  to  him 
brought  no  charm  ;  for,  written  in  legible  characters  on  every 
tree  and  flower,  traced  even  upon  the  cloudless  heaven,  he  saw 
but  one  word — ruin  ;  how  distant  he  could  not  tell — how  near 
he  dared  not  think.  Yet,  whether  close  at  hand,  or  thrown  far 
off  into  future  years,  equally  in  the  end  ruin — and  inevitable. 
Ingenuity  and  expedients  might  for  a  time  ward  off  the  evil  day, 
but  the  follies  of  the  past  could  never  be  retrieved.  For  one 
moment  he  ventured  to  contemplate  the  prospect,  for  he  pictured 
only  his  own  suffering ;  but  the  next  brought  before  him  the 
image  of  Laura,  in  her  youthful  grace  and  refinement,  the  spoil- 
ed child  of  luxury  ;  and  the  remembrance  of  the  innocent  child, 
whose  earthly  fortunes  would  be  sacrificed  to  a  father's  impru- 
dence ;  and  unable  to  endure  the  bitterness  of  his  feelings,  with 
a  vigorous  effort  he  turned  from  the  idea,  and  left  the  room,  to 
seek,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  a  temporary  forgetfulness  in 
the  claims  of  parliamentary  business. 


CHAPTER  XXV.  - 

"And  that  is  Torrington  Heath:"  said  Gertrude,  as  she 
stood  with  her  sister  on  the  summit  of  a  steep  hill,  from  which 
was  seen,  at  a  short  distance,  a  wild,  open  common,  covered 
with  furze  and  brambles,  indented  with  cart  ruts,  and  enlivened 
only  by  a  long  line  of  low  mud  hovels,  the  broken  windows  and 


GERTRUDE.  161 


sent  palings  of  which  bore  testimony  to  the  poverty  of  the  inhab- 
itants. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith ;  "  and  unfortunately  you  are  looking  at 
the  best  side  of  the  picture.  Those  cottages  are  much  worse  in 
the  inside  than  the  outside." 

Gertrude  forgot  her  usual  habit  of  attention,  while  watchinsf 
the  groups  of  squalid  children,  who  were  playing  in  front  of  the 
cabins.  "  And  can  Edward  really  do  nothing  for  the  people  ?" 
she  said,  at  length. 

"  He  has  done  something,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  that  is,  he  has  re- 
paired the  houses,  and  given  the  children  clothes,  and  sometimes 
excused  a  few  from  paying  rent ;  but  they  are  such  a  wretched 
set ;  and  the  district  is  so  large  ;  it  extends  to  the  other  side  of 
the  hill." 

"  It  is  clear  what  they  want,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  a  church,  and 
a  resident  clergyman." 

"  Yes  ;  no  one  doubts  that,  but  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  of  it." 

"Why  not]" 

"  Because  it  recalls  so  many  hopes  and  plans,  which  have 
come  to  nothing  ;  it  was  a  grievous  mistake  Edward's  going  into 
parliament." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Gertrude  ;  "  I  cannot  agree  with  you 
there  ;  with  his  high  talents  and  principles,  what  could  he  have 
done  better  ?" 

"  You  don't  know,"  began  Edith  ;  and  then  stopping  suddenly, 
*he  added,  "can  vou  bear  a  halt-confidence,  Gertrude  I" 

"  1  hope  I  could,  but  I  have  never  been  tried  ;  perhaps  it  may 
be  difficult  from  a  sister." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  thoughtfully  ;  "sisters  ought  to  be  all  in 
all  to  each  other  ;  but  no  sisters  are " 

"  Few,  rather,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  we   may  be  among  the  ex 
ceptions." 

"  Not  if  you  require  unlimited  confidence.     You  know  T  have 
told   you  in  my  letters,  that  1  could  not  explain  every  thing  I  al 
ludedto." 

"  Your  letters  have  been  puzzles  very  often,"  said  Gertrude  ; 
"  Imt  with  regard  to  confidence,  1  am  very  willing  to  take  as 
much,  or  as  little,  as  you  may  be  able  to  give.  ^Vhere  we  love, 
v.  e  musl  ;<1  -'»  trust." 

"  Hut  if  there  is  some  one  else  whom  I  can  talk  to  with 
greater  freedom  than  1  can  to  you,  what  should  vou  say  then  !" 

"  Trust  again,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  besides,  I  really  have  no 
right  to  expect  that  you  should  be  able  to  talk  to  me  as  if  we  had 
been  together  all  our  lives." 

"  But  I  wish  ii.  above  all  things,"  said  Edith  ;  "  if  there  were 
no  obstacles.  You  wdl  never  guess  tin-1  name  of  tin;  oidy  person 
wh'j  consoles  me  in  all  my  troubles." 


162  GERTRUDE. 


"  Mr.  Dacre,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  I  could  have  seen  that  he  was 
not  a  common  friend  the  first  day  he  was  with  us,  even  if  you 
had  not  spoken  of  him  so  often." 

"  Miss  Forester  is  jealous,"  said  Edith,  laughing  ;  "  though 
I  don't  believe  she  has  ever  yet  made  up  her  mind  whether  I 
intended  to  be  his  wife  or  his  adopted  daughter  :  but  to  return  to 
matters  of  fact :  Mr.  Dacre  is  really  my  principal  friend  and  guide 
in  all  cases  of  difficulty  ;  but  why  he  is  so  must  be  one  of  the 
mysteries." 

"And  are  these  mysteries  of  consequence  1"  inquired  Ger- 
trude. 

"  Really,  I  can  hardly  tell  ;  once  I  thought  they  were  of  the 
greatest ;  but  lately,  both  Mr.  Dacre  and  myself  have  begun  to 
doubt  our  own  convictions.  Edward's  very  extravagance  makes 
me  comparatively  easy  about  him." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Gertrude,  "that  I  don't  know  the  circum- 
stances you  refer  to." 

"  Some  are  easily  told,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  there  are  reasons 
which  used  to  make  me  afraid  that  Edward  was  living  greatly 
beyond  his  income  ;  but  since  he  has  been  in  parliament,  he  has 
been  so  separated  from  us,  that  we  know  much  less  of  his  affairs 
than  we  did  ;  and  now  there  is  a  report  that  he  is  to  have  a 
government  appointment  whenever  a  change  of  ministry  comes, 
which  every  one  declares  must  be  soon  :  not  that  I  believe  re- 
ports in  general,  but  there  seems  some  foundation  for  this,  be- 
cause of  Edward's  style  of  living,  which  would  be  madness  if 
he  had  not  some  prospects  of  the  kind." 

"  I  can  hardly  fancy  that,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  he  has  a  very 
good  fortune." 

"  Ah  !  if  you  did  but  know  all,"  began  Edith  ;  and  then  remem- 
bering her  promise  to  Edward,  she  added,  "  it  seems  so  unkind, 
Gertrude,  to  be  reserved  with  you." 

"  You  must  let  me  be  the  judge  of  the  unkindness,  dearest," 
said  Gertrude,  affectionately  ;  "  only  tell  me  that  you  are  not  un- 
happy about  any  thing." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  am — that  is,  not  very — in  fact,  I  don't 
let  my  mind  dwell  upon  the  future  ;  it  can  do  no  good.  Edward 
must  understand  his  own  affairs,  and  if  he  is  to  have  this  appoint- 
ment, I  hope  it  may  all  be  right.  But  this  would  not  have  satis- 
fied me  some  years  ago,  Gertrude.  I  should  have  been  misera- 
ble then  if  he  had  not  told  me  all." 

'Yes,"  said  Gertrude;  "a  wife  makes  an  essential  differ- 
ence." 

'  Yet  I  could  have  borne  that ;  I  could  have  borne  any 
thin?,"  exclaimed  Edith  ;  "  if — tell  me,  Gertrude,  do  you  like 
Laura?" 

Gertrude   smiled  at  the  abruptness  of  the  question.     "  Like 


GERTRUDE.  163 


ner,  I  do  very  much — more  than  I  expected  from  your  account. 
Love  her  I  do  not  yet,  but  I  am  nearly  certain  I  very  soon 
shall." 

"Do  you  really  think  sol"  said  Edith;  "she  is  so  unlike 
you  ;  she  has  no  idea  of  acting  from  fixed  motives — it  is  all  from 
impulse." 

"An  amiable  impulse  often,  I  should  think,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  still  it  is  only  impulse,  and  that  is  not  likely 
to  suit  either  you  or  me  :  at  least  I  can  answer  for  myself. 
Laura  and  I  were  not  formed  for  the  same  hemisphere." 

"  Except  that  you  have  been  placed  there,"  said  Gertrude,  in 
a  careless  totie,  under  which  a  grave  meaning  was  only  partially 
hidden. 

"  That  is  no  reason  for  our  suiting,"  said  Edith. 

"  No  !  only  for  trying  to  suit." 

"  But  you  would  not  have  any  one  who  is  endeavoring  to  do 
ripht  associate  with  a  person  whose  principles  are  worldly,  would 
you  ?"  exclaimed  Edith  ;  "  the  whole  tone  of  the  mind  would  be 
lowered  by  it." 

"  Don't  you  think  there  is  a  difference  between  relations  and 
other  people  ?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Not  much  :  only  that  if  they  are  disagreeable  they  are  ten 
times  worse  than  they  would  be  as  strangers,  because  you  can't 
escape  from  them." 

"Ah!"  said  Gertrude,  "that  is  the  very  point;  I  know  we 
cannot  escape  from  them,  and  so,  I  suppose,  it  was  intended  we 
should  make  the  best  of  them." 

Edith  sighed.  "  I  don't  mean,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  that  I 
do  not  love  my  brothers  or  sisters,  or  that  I  have  no  interest  in 
my  connections  ;  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  dance  attendance 
upon  them  all  day  without  neglecting  other  duties." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  difficult,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  and  I  know  I  am 
not  a  fair  judge ;  but  perhaps  a  little  '  dancing  attendance,'  as 
you  call  it,  might  win  their  hearts,  and  induce  them  to  help  in 
the  duties." 

'•  It  might  be  so,"  answered  Edith,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but  I  don't 
think  it  likely  at  home." 

Gertrude  did  not  urge  the  subject.  She  had  given  a  hint, 
and  she  left  it  to  work  its  own  way.  They  walked  on  for  several 
minutes  in  silence. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  observed  Edith  at  length,  <:  that  you 
would  give  up  visiting  poor  people,  and  attending  to  schools." 

'•  No,  no,"  replied  Gertrude;  "all  that  1  mean  is  that  our 
duties  are  like  the  circles  of  a  whirlpool,  and  that  the  innermost 
includes  home;  and  the  next,  perhaps,  the  rich  and  poor  imme- 
diately about  us.  The  circumstances  of  our  position  in  life,  out 
Pntune  and  talents,  Beem  in  fact  to  point  out  our  business." 


(G4  GERTRUDE. 


"  Rich  people  !"  said  Edith,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  do  you  not  remember  my  show- 
ing you  the  other  day  that  Bishop  Andrews  mentions,  among 
the  persons  to  be  interceded  for,  those  who  are  entitled  to  hia 
prayers  by  vicinity  of  situation;  as  if  that  were  in  itself  a  suffi- 
cient claim !" 

"But  surely  we  should  feel  so  tied  down,"  said  Edith,  "in 
being  forced  to  think  of,  and  care  for  people,  merely  because 
they  lived  near  us." 

"  I  don't  know  that  that  is  an  objection ;  because,  if  we  are 
not  tied  down,  there  may  be  as  much  self-will  in  choosing  duties 
as  pleasures." 

Still  Edith  was  inclined  to  object,  and  Gertrude,  disliking 
even  to  appear  dictatorial,  made  some  common  remark,  so  as  to 
give  an  opening  for  changing  the  conversation  ;  but  Edith  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  casting  blame  upon  another  when  she 
had  been  in  fault  herself;  and  again  recurred  to  Laura. 

"  Can  you  understand,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  "  that  when  I 
complain  of  Laura,  it  is  not  because  I  feel  innocent.  She  may 
be  wrong  in  some  things,  but  I  have  been  wrong  too.  You  re- 
member, perhaps,  that  1  told  you  a  long  time  ago,  we  had  had  a 
sort  of  quarrel  about  the  removal  of  old  Martha's  cottage,  be- 
cause it  intercepted  the  view  from  the  morning  room.  It  stood 
just  where  the  opening  is  now,  which  shows  the  spire  of  Elshain 
church,  and  the  top  of  the  Roman  hill.  Laura  urged  that  Mar- 
tha should  remove  in  defiance  of  Edward's  promise — and  Ed- 
ward himself  would  have  liked  it,  though  I  am  certain  nothing 
would  have  induced  him  to  break  his  word.  I  own  I  was  very 
angry,  and  said  some  unpardonable  things,  and  Laura  behaved 
extremely  well ;  but  we  never  made  it  up.  I  was  shy,  and  we 
differed  about  the  election,  and  unfortunately  the  day  of  the 
nomination  I  was  too  unwell  to  go  to  Allingham  in  the  evening, 
which  gave  great  offence.  Stupidly  enough,  I  sent  a  message 
instead  of  a  note,  and  the  message  was  not  given.  I  have  learnt 
a  lesson,  however,  from  that  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  have  never 
trusted  to  messages  since.  Then  after  Martha's  death  they 
pulled  the  cottage  down,  and  Laura  rejoiced.  1  can't  say  that 
1  sympathized,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  Edward  did  either,  for  he 
bad  it  taken  away  during  his  absence,  and  never  said  any  thing 
about  the  view.  A  few  observations  passed  then  between  Laura 
and  me,  which  did  not  make  us  better  friends ; — I  could  not  bear 
to  see  her  so  cold-hearted.  But  the  worst  thing  of  all  was,  that 
when  they  went  to  London,  they  took  Miss  Forester  with  them. 
I  hated  the  intimacy,  and  so  did  Edward,  but  it  still  goes  on,  and 
it  is  considered  a  settled  thing  for  her  to  go  to  town  everv  year 
with  them." 

"  I  must  say  that  is  strange,"  said  Gertrude.     "  Miss  Forestei 


GERTRUDE  165 


and  Laura  I  should  fancy  differed  in  every  thing  ;  that  is,  if  Lau- 
ra's countenance  tells  truth.  Independent  of  its  beauty,  there  is 
an  openness  and  purity  in  its  expression  which  charms  me  ;  and 
Miss  Forester's  is  so  very  unlike  it." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Edith  ;  "  and  I  really  believe  both  faces  speak 
the  characters.  Laura  is  very  sincere,  but  Miss  Forester  has  an 
immense  power  over  her,  notwithstanding  ;  lately,  indeed,  there 
has  been  a  change.  Miss  Forester  still  governs,  but  I  think  it  is 
in  a  different  way.  Laura  seems  afraid  of  her,  and  I  have  seen 
her  sometimes  shrink  away,  as  if  she  knew  what  Miss  Forester 
was,  and  yet  did  not  venture  to  cast  her  off.  And  besides  this, 
Laura  is  grown  so  grave — melancholy,  I  may  say,  at  times  ;  and 
she  and  Edward  don't  seem  so  happy  together  as  they  used  to 
be.  Edward  is  irritable,  and  Laura  appears  frightened  at  him. 
I  have  been  at  Allingham  more  the  last  few  months,  and  have 
seen  more  of  it.  Generally  Laura  is  in  town  at  this  season,  but 
this  year  they  hurried  back  unexpectedly,  and  gave  no  reasons 
for  it.  In  fact,  Gertrude,  there  is  some  mystery,  but  I  have  given 
up  attempting  to  fathom  it  ;  and  we  all  do  tolerably  well  together. 
Laura  and  I  are  very  civil." 

"  And  Charlie,"  said  Gertrude,  "  does  not  he  help  you  to  be 
friends  V 

"  Oh,  no  ;  he  is  quite  spoilt,  and  I  can't  bear  to  see  it.  If  I 
were  his  godmother  it  would  be  different,  but  a  cousin  of  Laura's 
stood,  because  Jane  refused,  so  I  feel  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him.  You  must  allow,  now,  that  progressing  at  Allingham  is  out 
of  my  power  ;  I  could  never  waste  time  in  telling  Charlie  he  is 
the  sweetest  little  creature  in  the  world,  which  is  the  only  way  to 
Laura's  heart." 

Gertrude  did  not  say  that  she  agreed,  and  Edith  pressed  for 
an  answer. 

'•  I  don't  see  things  exactly  in  the  same  light  you  do,"  replied 
Gertrude,  after  a  short  silence,  "  because  if  Laura  were  a  la- 
borer's wife  you  would  go  and  play  with  her  child  directly, 
for  the  very  purpose  of  making  her  feel  you  took  an  interest  in 
her." 

il  But  if  I  do  not  take  an  interest,"  said  Edith,  "  you  would  not 
have  me  a  hypocrite." 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  the  cottage  which  Edith  was 
wishing  to  visit,  and  Gertrude's  reply  was  .short  ;  "  You  an:  in- 
terested in  poor  people,"  she  said,  "because  they  are  fellow- 
atures,  and  want,  help,  and  have  never  perhaps  been  properly 
taught  their  duty  ;  and  especially  you  air  anxious  to  asMst  them, 
if  they  are  members  of  the  Church  ;  Laura  has  all  these  claims, 
and  one  besides — she  is  Edward's  wife." 

Edith  would  willingly  have  continued  the  conversation,  but 
the  approach  of  the  woman,  to  whom   the  house  belonged,  pre- 


166  GERTRUDE. 


vented  her,  and  Gertrude  was  not  sorry  to  defer  a  longer  discus- 
sion until  her  sister  had  had  more  time  for  reflecting  upon  whai 
had  been  said. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Day  after  day  glided  on  swiftly  and  silently,  each  bringing 
nopes  and  fears,  pleasures  and  pains  ;  to  the  careless  eye  all  light 
and  momentary,  and  in  such  rapid  succession  as  scarcely  to  lay 
claim  to  remembrance.  Yet  under  the  most  unruffled  surface  of 
domestic  life  flows  a  deep  under-current  either  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
which,  gathering  strength  from  every  trifling  action  and  event, 
bursts  at  last  suddenly,  and  often  overwhelmingly,  upon  hearts  that 
have  not  learnt  to  watch  the  bubbles  which  indicate  its  existence. 
Perhaps  it  is  well  that  it  should  be  so.  It  may  be  in  mercy  to 
many  that  their  eyes  are  blinded,  and  their  ears  closed,  and  like 
the  victim  about  to  be  sacrificed,  they  are  able  to  advance  gayly 
and  unhesitatingly  to  the  scene  of  their  trial.  If  it  were  other- 
wise, might  not  existence  to  them  be  a  burden  wearisome  and  in- 
tolerable ] — haunted  by  spectres  of  coming  evils,  the  sight  ot 
which  can  only  be  braved  by  those  who  have  learnt  at  their  first 
entrance  into  the  world  that  lesson  of  unshrinking  faith  which 
the  experience  of  a  long  life  so  frequently  fails  to  impart  1  It 
was  but  a  gradual  change  that  was  passing  over  the  inmates  ot 
Allingham.  No  one  could  tell  the  exact  moment  when  Edward's 
countenance  grew  more  gloomy,  and  Laura's  smiles  were  chang- 
ed into  sighs.  No  one  could  look  back  to  the  precise  time  when 
care  first  invaded  a  happy  home  ;  but  few  could  fail  to  perceive 
its  withering  effects,  in  the  hasty  word,  and  the  moody  revery, 
and  the  silent  and  daily  increasing  reserve,  which  had  sprung  up 
where  once  there  had  been  only  open  unsuspicious  confidence. 
The  original  fault  lay  witli  Edward— -in  the  weakness  which  had 
induced  him  to  conceal  from  his  wife  the  encumbered  state  of  his 
property.  From  that  error  followed,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
innumerable  others,  and  amongst  them  many  in  which  Laura 
was  by  no  means  free  from  participation.  Even  had  her  hus- 
band's  fortune  been  all  that  she  imagined,  it  could  not  have  suf- 
ficed for  the  gratification  of  every  idle  wish — still  less  for  the 
fearful  extravagancies  of  London  dissipation  ;  and  this  she  well 
knew ;  but  unaccustomed  to  self-control,  and  led  by  Miss  P'or- 
ester's  persuasive  flatteries,  she  had  set  no  bounds  to  her  expen- 


GERTRUDE.  167 


ses  ;  and  while  Edward  brought  himself  into  notice  by  making 
splendid  speeches  in  public,  followed  up  by  splendid  dinners  in 
private,  Laura  gained  equal  notoriety  by  the  magnificence  of  her 
frequent  entertainments.  Edward  murmured,  remonstrated,  and 
paid  his  bills — the  last  being  a  conclusive  evidence  to  Lauia's 
mind  that  she  had  done  no  wrong.  But  the  moment  at  length  ar- 
rived  when  he  was  compelled  to  interpose  his  authority.  At  the 
commencement  of  a  third  season  of  thoughtless  frivolity,  a  dis- 
cussion, the  first  of  an  angry  nature  which  had  yet  arisen,  was 
ended  by  a  peremptory  enforcement  of  strict  economy,  and  Laura 
soon  afterwards  returned  to  Allingham,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
London  season,  with  no  hope  of  solace  or  amusement  beyond  the 
few  hours  which  Edward  was  able  occasionally  to  devote  to  her 
— the  society  of  a  country  neighborhood  when  half  its  members 
are  absent — and  the  friendship  of  Miss  Forester.  But  notwith- 
standing her  life  of  indulgence,  Laura  bore  the  sacrifice  with 
temper  and  patience. 

The  follies  of  fashionable  life  had  not  as  yet  weakened  the  force 
of  that  strong  attachment  to  her  husband  upon  which  so  many 
virtues  might  have  been  grafted.  He  was  still  the  object  of  her 
love  and  reverence,  and  his  will,  when  once  openly  expressed, 
was  a  law  which,  however  she  might  dispute,  she  would  not  ven- 
ture to  disobey.  It  was  not  regret  for  the  morning  breakfasts 
and  the  evening  fetes,  the  gay  acquaintances  and  insidious  flat- 
teries, from  which  she  was  thus  suddenly  snatched,  that  caused 
her  melancholy.  Past  pleasures  were  remembered  and  longed 
for,  but  the  loss  of  them  would  have  had  no  lasting  power  to  mar 
her  happiness.  If  Allingham  had  been  what  it  was  in  the  first 
days  of  her  married  life  ;  if  Edward  had  been  still  the  compan- 
ion of  her  walks  and  drives,  the  promoter  of  her  daily  amuse- 
ments, and  the  sharer  of  her  every  feeling  ;  above  all,  if  there 
had  been  no  thought  which  she  dared  not  communicate,  no  action 
which  she  dreaded  to  confess,  a  spring  spent  in  the  country 
might  have  proved  a  season  of  enjoyment  rather  than  ennui. 

But  the  case  was  far  otherwise.  Edward's  engagements 
were  numerous,  his  absence  was  frequent,  and  his  attention  pre- 
occupied. Affection  indeed  he  still  gave  her,  deep  and  sincere, 
but  slmwn  only  in  fleeting  moments,  and  upon  passing  impulses. 
If  Laura  had  her  causes  for  reserve,  he  had  his  also  ;  and  more 
painful,  more  enduring,  since  they  involved  not  merely  the  pros- 
perity of  all  he  most  loved-,  but  the  sacrifice  of  those  firm  princi- 
ples of  right  upon  winch  in  his  parliamentary  career  he  had 
hitherto    constantly    acted.       1 1  is    brilliant    talents   were    by    this 

time  known  and  appreciated  ;  his  character  was  respected,  his 
opinions  were'  received  with  deference  ;  hut  for  the  purposes  of 
a  party  he-  was  ioo  independent ;  ami  while  he  persisted  in  carry- 
ing out  his  own  views  in  opposition  to  his  influential  friends, 


IGS  GERTRUDE. 


there  seemed  no  prospect  of  his  obtaining,  under  any  circum- 
stances, the    position  of   prominence   for  which    so    many  had 
declared  him  calculated.     The  knowledge  of  this  fact  had,  at 
first,  only  stimulated  Edward  more  openly  to  prove  himself  free 
and  unbiased.     There  was  a  satisfaction  in  the  consciousness 
of  self-sacrifice,  which  nerved  him  against  ridicule,  and  gave 
him  something  of  a  martyr's  pride  in  his  devotion  to  the  public 
good.     Every  suggestion  of  flattery  was  repelled  ;  every  thought 
of  a  compromise  rejected  ;  and,  for  a  time,  the  task  was  com- 
paratively easy.     But  when  at  length  there  seemed  a  prospect 
of  his  own  friends  being  in  power,  the  trial  assumed  a  different 
shape.     In  the  excitement  of  public  life  he  felt  equal  to  any  re- 
sistance, but  then  came  quiet  hours  and  seasons  of  comparative 
retirement — moments  when  a  present  pressure  and  a  future  dread 
weighed  down  his  spirits,  and  bewildered  his  judgment ;  and  when 
the  prospect  of  escape  from  impending  evil  seemed  a  blessing  to 
be  purchased  at  any  price.     The  hope  of  bribing  him  to  aban- 
don his  principles  was  one  which  no  person  who  knew  him  would 
have  ventured  to  entertain  ;  but  there  were  other  forms  in  which 
the  proposal  could  more  delicately  be  made  ;  and  when  it  was 
whispered  in  his  ear  that  some  concession  upon  two  or  three  im- 
portant points  might  soon  be  the  means  of  placing  him  in  a  situ- 
ation, which,  by  increasing  his  influence,  would  also  increase  his 
usefulness,  it  seemed  scarcely  right  at  once  to  refuse  the  idea 
without  consideration.     As  on  other  occasions,  Edward  listened 
to  the  temptation,  thought  upon  it,  and  rejected  it,  and  then  car- 
ried its  remembrance  in  his  heart  to  be  dwelt  upon  and  coveted. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  a  temporary  cessation  of  parliamentary 
business  allowed  him  to  return  with  Laura  to  Allingham  ;  and 
with  the  growing  conviction  in  his  mind  that  on  the  success  of 
his  public  career  depended  his  prosperity  or  his  ruin,  the  evident 
symptoms  of  distrust  which  he  discovered  amongst  his  former 
supporters  were    naturally  regarded  with    considerable    alarm. 
Officious  friends  were  constantly  on  the  watch  to  remind  him  of 
danger,  and   to  retail  speeches  and  anecdotes,  some   half  true, 
others  wholly  false,  but  all  tending  to  show,  that  unless  he  could 
consent  to  give  up  the  opinions  he  had  hitherto  most  strenuously 
asserted,  his  success  upon  the  event  of  a  new  election  would  be 
most  doubtful.     General  Forester,  in  particular,  shook  his  head 
with  looks  of  surprise  and  reproach,  upon  finding  that  the  mem- 
ber he  had  himself  proposed — the  man  for  whom  such  sacrifices 
had  been  made,  was  resolved  to  follow  the  guidance  of  his  own 
judgment,  and  steadfastly  set  his  face  against  many  of  the  most 
approved  measures  of  the  day. 

It  was  a  perversion  of  reason  attributed  to  ignorance,  and 
argued  against  accordingly  ;  but  as  weeks  went  on,  and  no  im- 
pression was  made  upon  Edward's  prejudices,  the  General's  zeal 


GERTRUDE.  169 


in  his  behalf  sensibly  diminished  ;  and  nothing  but  respect  for 
his  talents,  and  the  certainty  that,  if  Mr.  Courtenay  ceased  to  be 
a  member,  he  himself  would  cease  to  be  a  person  of  any  impor- 
tance, induced  him  still  to  range  himself  amongst  the  number  of 
his  political  adherents.  Since  Edward's  return  to  Allingham, 
however,  General  Forester's  hopes  of  his  conversion  had  consid- 
erably revived.  With  such  a  spy  as  his  daughter  upon  the  fami- 
ly secrets,  he  could  not  he  entirely  ignorant  of  the  position  of 
Mr.  Courtenay's  affairs  ;  and  his  own  knowledge  of  Edward's 
character  made  him  easily  believe  that  no  compromise  need  bft 
despaired  of  while  it  was  possible  to  hold  out  to  him  the  pros- 
pect of  relieving  himself  from  his  difficulties  ;  and  that  this  might 
be  done  if  he  remained  in  Parliament,  the  General  had  good  rea- 
son to  imagine.  He  had  indeed  no  idea  to  what  extent  Edward 
was  embarrassed.  It  was  a  secret  only  in  the  possession  of  his 
lawyers  ;  but  Miss  Forester  had  gained,  by  observation  and  ques- 
tions, an  insight  into  his  hidden  subjects  of  care,  which  years  of 
intimacy  would  have  failed  to  impart  to  Laura.  And  this  knowl- 
edge she  felt  no  scruple  in  imparting  to  her  father. 

And  there  was  yet  another  person,  who  watched  the  onward 
course  of  events  with  deep,  untiring  interest.  The  four  years 
which  had  glided  over  Mr.  Dacre's  head  had  been  unmarked 
by  any  incidents  of  importance,  but  each  as  it  passed  had  borne 
with  it  some  portion  of  strength  from  the  body,  and  added  some 
impress  of  heaven  to  the  soul.  Calm  he  was  still,  and  thought- 
ful, and  dignified,  and  self-possessed  ;  but  it  was  the  calmness 
rather  of  a  spirit  escaped  from  earthly  cares  than,  as  it  once  had 
been,  of  a  heart  too  heavily  oppressed  to  be  conscious  of  them. 
None  but  himself  knew  the  toil  and  watchfulness,  the  careful 
examination  and  earnest  prayer,  by  which  alone  the  last  cling- 
ing to  by-gone  recollections  had  been  subdued  ;  and  few  could 
understand  the  fulness  of  peace,  which  seems  granted  as  the 
foretaste  of  eternal  rest,  when  the  spirit,  after  its  weary  struggle 
with  sin  and  sorrow,  has  at  length  been  permitted  to  attain  that 
high  point  of  human  excellence  from  which  heaven  in  its  purity 
is  seen  unclouded  above,  while  the  mists  and  shadows  of  the 
world  float  unheeded  beneath.  Yet  it  was  this  very  elevation 
of  character  which  caused  Mr.  Dacre's  unwearied  care  for  the 
welfare  of  those  whom  he  saw  still  battling  with  the  trials  of 
life.  They  who  have  escaped  from  danger  can  best  understand 
the  difficulties  of  others  when  plunged  into  it;  and  although 
Edward's  reserve  and  secrecy  had  latterly  induced  Mr.  Dacro 
to  believe,  as  Edith  had  said,  that  he  must  be  in  expectation  of 
some  sources  of  affluence  unknown  to  his  friends,  and  thus  in 
home  degree  diminished  his  anxiety,  yel  it  was  impossible  to 
Watch  without  deep  regret  the  gradual  deterioration  of  a  natu- 
rally noble  mind,  gifted  with  a  clear  perception  of  the  path  of 
8 


170  GERTRUDE. 


duty,  but  weakly  turning  aside  at  every  step.  He  had  failed, 
too,  in  obtaining  that  intimacy  with  Edward,  of  which  he  had 
once  hoped  to  avail  himself.  Allingham  was  open  to  him  at  all 
hours,  and  his  welcome  gave  him  no  cause  to  consider  himself 
an  intruder  ;  but  the  day  of  confidence  was  over ;  for,  having 
once  rejected  Mr.  Dacre's  advice,  Edward  was  unwilling  to 
confess  the  consequences  which  his  own  wilfulness  had  brought 
upon  him ;  and  guardedly  abstained  from  all  allusions  to  his 
personal  feelings  or  his  private  affairs.  And  at  the  Priory  it 
was  equally  hopeless  to  obtain  any  information  as  to  his  true 
position.  Edith,  who  knew  most,  now  daily  lamented  her  es- 
trangement and  ignorance  ;  but  there  was  a  pleasure  in  feel- 
ing that  it  was  in  his  power  to  be  a  comfort  to  her,  which  in- 
duced Mr.  Dacre  to  take  frequent  advantage  of  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
hearty  assurances,  that  "  it  was  quite  a  relief  to  see  him  at  the 
Priory,  for  really  she  began  to  think  sometimes  he  would  go  out 
of  his  senses  with  melancholy  if  he  kept  so  much  to  himself." 
Perhaps,  if  he  had  known  the  effect  of  his  visits,  they  might 
even  have  been  more  frequent ;  but  the  most  pure  and  holy  are 
also  the  most  humble-minded  ;  and  Mr.  Dacre  would  have  been 
the  first  to  feel  surprise  at  being  told  that  his  presence  was  a 
check  upon  Charlotte's  satire,  and  a  stimulus  to  Jane's  energy  ; 
while  Mrs.  Courtenay  often  wondered  "  what  there  was  in  Mr. 
Dacre  which  made  things  seem  different  when  he  was  there  ; 
everybody  was  so  quiet,  and  all  went  on  so  much  more  smooth- 
ly ;  she  thought  it  must  be  because  he  was  such  an  invalid  that 
people  were  afraid  of  talking  out  before  him,  for  fear  of  distress- 
ing him." 

"  Mr.  Dacre  has  forgotten  us  for  three  days,"  said  Charlotte, 
as  she  lingered  one  morning  in  the  breakfast-room,  a  practice 
which,  since  Gertrude's  return,  had  become  more  enticing  than 
formerly. 

"  Not  forgotten,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  ';  but  you 
all  tire  him  out  when  he  is  here.  I  thought  he  never  would  have 
done  walking  up  and  down  the  terrace  the  last  time.  Poor  man  ! 
and  the  night  air  is  so  bad  for  him." 

"  He  is  rather  a  romantic  person  for  an  old  one,"  observed 
Jane  ;  "lam  sure  he  likes  moonlight  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
do." 

^  "We  were  matter-of-fact  enough  that  evening,"  said  Edith. 
"  He  was  talking  about  the  poor  man  who  shot  Edward's  keep- 
er, and  settling  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  wife  and  chil- 
dren." 

"  Ah,  yes !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  to  be  sure,  that 
must  be  it.  I  dare  say  he  is  gone  to  see  after  them  now.  What 
a  good  tiling  it  is  to  be  so  kind  !" 

'  \es,"  said  Jane,  more  earnestly  than  usual  ;  "  if  one  were 


GERTRUDE.  171 


but  equal  to  it.  I  can  fancy  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  being 
able  to  do  what  he  does." 

"  Mr.  Dacre  is  a  miserable  invalid,"  said  Edith,  shortly.  Jane's 
color  rose,  and  she  was  about  to  make  an  angry  reply  ;  when 
Gertrude,  turning  to  her  mother,  inquired  if  she  were  not  intend- 
ing to  go  for  a  drive  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear,  I  did  think  of  it,  and  Jane  too  ;  but  wh  / 
did  you  ask  ?" 

"  Because,  if  you  were,  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  not  mind 
going  by  Torrington  Heath,  and  taking  Susan  Philips  a  little 
bundle  of  clothes  we  have  been  looking  out  for  her,  that  is  to  say, 
if  it  is  ready  ;  but  I  must  work  hard  to  finish  making  up  tl.a 
baby's  frock." 

"  Leave  it  for  to-day,"  said  Edith,  "  and  come  with  me  to  the 
school  ;  we  shall  meet  Mr.  Dacre  there,  perhaps,  and  then  he 
will  tell  us  what  he  has  been  doing,  and  you  will  be  able  to  say 
any  thing  you  wish." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  tone  which  implied  that  a 
conversation  with  Mr.  Dacre  was  an  all-powerful  temptation  ; 
but  Gertrude  resolutely  resisted  it. 

"  If  you  would  wait  till  the  afternoon,"  she  replied,  "  it  would 
be  more  convenient,  because  I  really  should  be  glad  to  finish  my 
work,  and  I  want  rather  to  help  Charlotte  put  in  her  seeds." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  would  stay  at  home  for 
such  a  trifle  as  that  !"  exclaimed  Edith  ;  "  I  thought  you  were 
very  anxious  about  poor  Philips,  and  I  am  nearly  certain  we 
shall  hear  something  from  Mrs.  Grantley,  if  we  don't  meet  Mr. 
Dacre." 

'•  We  should  not  be  delayed  very  lonsr,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  and 
it  is  such  an  exquisite  morning  for  gardening,  and  Charlotte  and 
1  have  been  looking  forward  to  it.  You  must  remember  the 
*ork,  too." 

'•  We  would  take  it  up  ourselves  to-morrow,"  persisted  Edith, 
"  and  it  would  do  just  as  well,  and  better,  because  we  should  be 
able  to  talk  to  Susan." 

"  1  thought,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  if  mamma  took  it,  perhaps 
she  would  not  mind  telling  Susan  how  to  doctor  her  baby.  I  am 
sure  she  knows  a  frreat  deal  about  it,  and  we  could  not  help  hei 
at  all  in  that  way." 

"If  mamma  would,"  said  Edith;  "  but  she  dislikes  getting  in 
and  out  of  a  carriage." 

"  Perhaps  Susan  would  be  able  to  tell  her  about  the  child  with- 
out giving  her  that  trouble,"  said  Gertrude.  "Don't  call  me 
wilful,  Edith  ;  I  really  do  hope  to  go  out  with  you  in  the  course 
of  the  day." 

"  What  is  that  you  want  me  to  do,  my  dear !"  inquired 
Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  you  must  not  ask  me  to  go  amongst  any  of 


172  GERTRUDE. 


your  people  :  it  makes  me  so  very  nervous — it  upsets  me 
quite." 

"I  did  not  mean  you  to  be  worried  about  it,  dear  mamma," 
said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  you  know  so  much  about  children,  that  per- 
haps, if  Susan  Philips  came  to  the  carriage-door,  you  could  just 
tell  her  something  that  might  be  good  for  her  baby." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  hesitated,  thought,  and  at  last  acquiesced. 
Prescribing  for  babies  was  the  point  on  which  she  peculiarly 
piqued  herself,  and  this  Gertrude  had  lately  discovered. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  settled.  I  suppose,"  said  Charlotte  :  ''  and 
we  will  go  to  our  gardening,  Gertrude,  and  leave  the  others  to 
their  own  devices." 

"  Only  if  you  could  spare  me  a  little  time  to  finish  my  work 
first,"  said  Gertrude,  "  I  should  be  very  grateful." 

Charlotte  looked  disappointed  ;  and  Jane,  following  the  ex- 
ample set  her  of  assisting  others,  offered  to  undertake  the  task. 
Gertrude  was  obliged,  but  not  too  much  so.  She  did  not  appear 
to  consider  that  Jane  had  made  an  unusual  effort,  which  would 
have  implied  that  she  was  generally  selfish  ;  and  thanked  her 
more  for  the  favor  conferred  on  herself  than  for  the  kindness 
done  to  the  poor  woman.  And  Edith  looked  on  in  surprise  :  that 
her  mother  should  take  any  trouble  for  a  sick  child,  and  Jane 
put  herself  out  of  the  way  to  work  for  it,  she  would  an  hour  before 
have  considered  perfectly  unnatural.  Now,  both  actions  came  as 
a  matter  of  course,  while  Gertrude  seemed  to  have  cast  aside  her 
own  duties,  and  to  devote  herself  merely  to  a  trifling  amusement 
— why,  Edith,  notwithstanding  her  late  conversation,  had  yet  to 
learn. 

The  morning  wore  quickly  away,  and  Gertrude  talked,  and 
laughed,  and  gardened,  and  discussed  the  merits  of  a  new  club 
book,  and  assisted  her  mother  out  of  the  intricacies  of  her  knit- 
ting, as  if  her  whole  thoughts  were  devoted  to  the  present  hour. 
No  one  would  have  imagined  that  she  had  any  one  engrossing 
subject  of  thought,  or  that  any  other,  motive  than  mere  curiosity 
caused  her  to  listen  so  frequently  to  the  hall  bell,  and  wonder 
whether  Mr.  Dacre  would  come  to  luncheon.  Yet  at  that  very 
time  Gertrude  was  longing  to  indulge  the  day-dream,  which  for 
years  had  been  floating  before  her,  and  which  nothing  but  a 
firm  habit  of  self-control  had  kept  from  occupying  her  mind,  to 
the  exclusion  of  her  daily  duties.  It  was  a  dream,  not  of  fame 
and  honor,  not  of  luxury  and  earthly  splendor,  but  of  riches 
dedicated  to  the  God  who  had  conferred  them.  And  at  length 
the  period  seemed  arrived  when  she  might  be  permitted  to  real- 
ize it.  Even  before  Gertrude  had  been  made  aware  of  her 
aunt's  intentions  in  her  favor,  her  naturally  generous  temper 
had  led  her  to  form  plans  for  giving  pleasure  to  others  ;  and  all 
that  could  be  spared  from  her  personal  allowance  was  bestowed 


GERTRUDE.  173 


freely,  sometimes  even  profusely  and  extravagantly,  upon  hei 
friends.  It  was  the  family  defect.  The  luxury  of  making 
presents  was  too  great  to  be  resisted,  and  poor  Gertrude  had 
often  brought  herself  into  difficulty  by  the  thoughtless  kindness 
which  had  induced  her  to  lavish  her  last  sovereign  upon  a  knick- 
knack  for  a  companion,  when  she  was  in  want  of  absolute  ne- 
cessaries herself.  But,  with  more  steady  principles,  came  the 
corrective  of  this  error.  The  first  check  which  she  received  was 
from  the  knowledge  that  she  could  not  throw  her  money  away 
upon  idle  fancies,  and  also  have  enough  to  bestow  upon  the  poor; 
and  although  it  was  not  so  agreeable,  at  first,  to  relinquish  a 
purchase  for'which  she  was  certain  to  receive  warm  thanks  and 
caresses,  in  order  to  buy  a  hundred  of  coals,  rir  a  few  yards  of 
flannel,  with  scarcely  any  prospect  of  gratitude  in  return  ;  yet 
the  lesson  was  learnt  at  last,  and  Gertrude  was  contented  to  be 
thought  prudent  and  economical  by  the  world,  so  that  she  could 
be  generous  in  the  eye  of  God.  Her  natural  disposition,  how- 
ever, though  diverted  into  another  channel,  still  remained  in  full 
force.  The  visions  of  the  future  which  came  the  most  frequently, 
and  were  the  most  difficult  to  subdue,  were  of  some  time  when 
she  should  be  able  to  build  churches,  and  found  hospitals,  and 
endow  alms-houses,  and  give  up  every  thing  to  religion.  They 
constituted  to  her  the  romance  of  life  ;  for  they  were  associated 
with  all  those  feelings  of  reverence,  and  self-devotion,  and  dedi- 
cation to  the  service  of  another  Being,  which,  even  when  turned 
upon  earthly  objects,  are  among  the  highest  and  purest  of  which 
our  nature  is  capable.  And  since  her  return  home,  the  occa- 
sion seemed  afforded  of  gratifying  her  most  cherished  wish. 
.She  had  wealth  beyond  any  others  of  her  family,  since  she 
shared  her  father's  fortune  equally  with  her  sisters;  there  were 
no  pressing  claims  upon  her  charity,  and  if,  with  the  sanction  of 
her  friends,  she  might  take  upon  herself  the  duty  which  had 
been  exclusively  her  brother's  and  sacrifice  her  fortune,  for  the 
church  so  much  needed  at  Torrington,  she  could  scarcely  be 
accused  of  going  beyond  her  appointed  sphere  of  action.  The 
first  thought  upon  the  subject  was  one  of  exquisite  delight — the 
next,  of  deep  humiliation.  In  bygone  ages  there  had  been  a 
monarch  "  in  whose  heart  it  was  to  build  a  house  of  rest  for  the 
ark  of  the  covenant  of  the  Lord,  and  for  the  footstool  of  his  God  ; 
and  who  had  made  ready  for  the  building.  J5ut  God  said  unto 
him,  Thou  shalt  not  build  a  house  for  my  name."  And  after 
tin:  rejection  of  David,  the  man  after  God's  own  heart,  Ger- 
trude trembled,  lest  it  might  be  presumptuous  in  one  so  young, 
and  frail,  anil  untried  as  herself,  to  venture  upon  a  similar  un- 
dertaking. Her  spirit  sank  as  she  dwelt  upon  the  greatness  oi 
the  work,  and  her  own  weakness  and  sinfulness;  she  longed  tc 
find  some  person  who  would  enter  into   her   feelings,  and  advise 


174  GERTRUDE. 


her  rightly,  whilst  she  shrank  from  confessing:  her  secret  wishei 
and  hearing  her  ideas  discussed  and  argued  upon,  and,  it  migh 
he,  ridiculed,  hy  those  who  would  consider  it  a  deed  of  merit 
rather  than  an  infinite  privilege,  to  make  an  offering  of  worldly 
wealth  for  the  benefit  of  the  Church  of  Christ.  Delicacy  natu- 
rally prevented  her  from  speaking  to  Edward,  and  reserve 
formed  an  equal  barrier  to  applying  to  Mr.  Grantley,  of  whom 
she  had  seen  but  little  ;  next  to  him  her  mind  turned  to  Mr. 
Dacre,  whose  intimacy  with  the  family  made  him  appear  an  old 
friend.  Once  or  twice,  in  their  late  conversation,  she  had  en- 
deavored to  introduce  subjects  of  the  kind,  uppermost  in  her 
thoughts,  in  order  to  gain  an  insight  into  his  opinions,  and  dis- 
cover whether  she  might  dare  to  acknowledge  her  wishes  and 
her  own  self-distrust,  without  fear  of  being  considered  weak  and 
enthusiastic ;  for  Gertrude,  like  all  persons  of  a  warm  and  ear- 
nest temperament,  could  better  have  brooked  open  opposition, 
than  a  matter-of-fact,  uninterested  inquiry  into  the  reasonable- 
ness of  her  views.  Edith  had,  as  yet,  been  her  only  confidant ; 
and  even  she,  though  delighted  at  the  prospect,  seemed  to  con- 
sider principally  the  sacrifice  her  sister  was  about  to  make,  and 
spoke  of  it  as  an  act  of  munificence,  which  she  desired  might 
be  known  to  every  one  ;  and  poor  Gertrude,  humbled  by  praise 
more  than  by  censure,  dreaded  lest  after  all  she  should  be  mis 
taken  in  Mr.  Dacre's  character,  and  receive  flattering  commen- 
dation, where  she  desired  only  sympathy  and  advice.  It  was 
with  a  beating  heart,  therefore,  that  on  this  morning,  when  she 
had  resolved,  if  possible,  to  speak  to  him,  unreservedly,  she 
heard  his  now  well-known  ring,  followed  by  the  inquiry  for  Mrs. 
Courtenay  and  the  young  ladies.  Objections  to  her  plan  start- 
ed up  instantaneously.  Mr.  Dacre  might  consider  it  prema- 
ture— an  infringement  upon  Edward's  peculiar  province  ;  he 
might  think  it  hasty,  and  counsel  delay  ;  or  he  might  see  other 
and  less  interesting  claims  upon  her  fortune  ;  or,  still  worse,  he 
might  be  preoccupied,  and  so  might  give  her  only  a  half-atten- 
tion. And  at  the  instant  Gertrude  felt  as  if  the  least  check  would 
throw  her  back  upon  herself,  and  make  her  bury  her  wishes  in 
her  own  bosom  forever.  Mr.  Dacre  appeared  in  due  time,  vtas 
chided  for  his  long  absence,  invited  to  take  luncheon  as  usual, 
and  then  pressed  to  give  every  particular  about  the  unfortunato 
poacher  and  his  family.  It  was  a  hard  trial  for  Gertrude  ;  yet 
she  forced  herself  to  attention,  by  remembering  how  much  of 
happiness  or  misery  to  a  fellow-creature  was  involved  in  the 
subject ;  and  no  one,  in  listening  to  her  considerate  questions, 
would  have  imagined  how  great  was  the  effort  of  making  them. 
A.11  was,  however,  at  length  told ;  and  Gertrude  waited  for  a 
pause,  as  an  excuse  for  breaking  up  the  party  ;  but  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay vas  too  delighted  at  finding  a  new  topic  of  oonversatioB 


GERTRUDE.  175 

to  relinquish  it  willingly,  and  continued  asking  questions  till  the 
carriage  had  been  twice  announced  ;  when,  to  Gertrude's  disap- 
pointment, it  was  insisted  that  Mr.  Dacre  should  go  for  a  drive 
with  them.  He  was  to  return,  however,  to  dinner  ;  and  again 
Gertrude  meekly  submitted  to  the  delay,  and  strove  to  turn  her 
mind  to  other  subjects. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,  Gertrude,  how  you  contrive  to  be  so  calm 
about  every  thing,"  said  Edith,  putting  her  arm  within  her  sis- 
ter's, as  they  left  the  dining-room,  and  leading  her  into  the  garden : 
"  I  watched  you  during  the  whole  of  dinner,  and  never  once 
saw  you  look  absent." 

"  I  saw  myself,  though,"  said  Gertrude,  smiling  ;  "  but  indeed, 
Edith,  you  are  enough  to  prevent  any  one  from  being  calm — half 
my  worries  now  are  for  you.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  grievously 
vexed  if  objections  are  made." 

"  Naturally  enough,"  said  Edith  ;  "  and  angry  too,  perhaps  ; 
for,  after  all,  who  is  to  hinder  you  from  doing  as  you  like  with 
your  own  money  1" 

"  No  one,  legally,"  replied  Gertrude ;  "  and  if  I  were  some 
twenty  or  thirty  years  older,  and  had  experience  and  judgment, 
I  don't  think  any  one  would  :  but  it  is  the  old  story  of  times  and 
circumstances  pointing  out  duty.  I  should  feel  I  was  presump- 
tuous in  determining  upon  it,  if  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Dacre  seri- 
ously objected  ;  for  I  sometimes  think,  Edith,"  and  Gertrude's 
voice  involuntarily  assumed  a  deeper  tone,  "that  holy  works 
should  only  be  undertaken  by  holy  persons." 

"And  who  is  holy  if  you" began  Edith,  but  the  sentence 

was  unfinished. 

'•  Who  is  holy,  indeed  ?"  said  Gertrude,  not  perceiving  her 
sister's  meaning — "  holy  as  one  should  be  who  desires  such  a 
privilege  as  I  am  seeking.  Does  it  never  seem  to  you,  Edith, 
when  you  look  upon  beautiful  scenery,  that  nature  is  the  only 
temple  fit  for  the  worship  of  God  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith,  "  and  I  suppose,  if  our  minds  were  in 
a  right  state,  devotion  would  be  the  natural  result  of  all  keen 
perception  of  beauty  ;  but  as  it  is,  we  can  so  seldom  view  it 
without  Bome  lower  associations.  It  constantly  appears  to  me 
like  a  stranger, — as  if  I  could  see  only  the  outward  form,  and 
lie  spirit  was  hid  h  n.     1   have  looked  upon  this  view,  for  in> 


176  GERTRUDE. 


stance,  day  after  day,  and  gained  no  real  pleasure  or  benefit 
from  it." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  and  it  is  humbling 
and  disappointing  to  have  nothing  but  mean  or  common  ideas 
suggested  by  what  we  admire  so  much.  That  is  the  reason,  I 
suppose,  why  the  solemnity  of  a  church  is  generally  necessary 
to  raise  our  minds.     The  natural  temple  is  profaned." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Edith,  "  the  earth  may  be  a  temple  for 
anffels,  but  it  can  never  be  for  us." 

"  Only  as  we  become  more  like  them,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
"  and  then,"  she  added  with  greater  earnestness,  "  can  you  not 
fancy,  Edith,  the  infinite  charm  of  being  able  to  read  the  spirit 
of  nature  truly  ;  of  being  so  thoroughly  religious,  as  never  to 
look  coldly  upon  the  meanest  flower,  because  God  made  it,  and 
really  to  feel  that  His  voice  was  in  the  thunder,  and  His  glory 
upon  the  seas  1" 

The  tears  were  in  Edith's  eyes,  and  she  paused  before  reply- 
ing. "  Oh,  Gertrude,"  she  exclaimed  at  length,  "  if  it  were  only 
possible  to  be  what  we  know  we  ought  to  be  !  But  how  is  it  pos- 
sible !  If  we  lived  alone  in  deserts,  there  might  be  a  hope ;  but 
there  can  be  none  for  us,  when  we  are  constantly  in  contact  with 
our  fellow-creatures,  and  so  have  our  worst  feelings  brought  into 
play  at  every  instant." 

"1  have  thought  lately,"  replied  Gertrude,  "that  the  difficulty 
might  be  less,  but  for  our  way  of  looking  at  people,  and  thinking 
of  them.  If  we  could  constantly  realize  the  fact  that  we  are 
baptized  members  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  to  live  with  our  fel- 
low creatures  would  be  not  merely  an  intercourse  with  human 
beings,  but  with  souls  training  for  eternity." 

"  One  is  so  ap*.  to  forget  the  very  existence  of  a  church,"'  said 
Edith 

"  Yes,  and  yet,  I  am  sure  that  no  mind  can  be  raised  to  its 
highest  tone  without  a  remembrance  of  it ;  because  there  is  much 
involved  in  it :  it  tells  in  a  wonderful  way  upon  daily  life." 

"  I  don't  see  that,"  replied  Edith  :  "  of  course  it  is  a  truth,  and 
a  great  one  ;  but  there  seems  nothing  very  practical  in  it." 

"  So  I  should  have  said  once,"  replied  Gertrude,  "but  I  think, 
when  a  person  begins  to  act  up  to  the  rules  of  the  Church,  how- 
ever imperfectly,  they  must  be  felt  to  be  a  great  assistance  in 
keeping  the  mind  in  a  right  state  ;  even  though  their  meaning 
and  spirit  are  not  thoroughly  understood." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  yourself,  Gertrude,"  said  Edith.  "I 
alvv:  ,s  felt  there  was  some  great  difference  between-us." 

"Yes,"  replied  Gertrude,  "I  was  speaking  of  myself  be- 
cause we  must  be  better  judges  of  the  effect  of  certain  princi- 
ples from  our  own  experience  than  from  hearsay.  My  notions 
about  the  Church  began  from  practice.     A  friend  talked  to  me 


GERTRUDE.  i  1 1 


?f  the  duty  of  observing  certain  days,  and  attending  daily  ser- 
vices, vvnich  were  just  introduced  at  Farleigh  ;  she  was  not  at 
all  a  clever  person,  and  understood  nothing  of  controversy,  but 
she  was  most  entirely  in  earnest,  and  never,  that  I  could  find  out, 
knowingly  omitted  a  duty  ;  and  all  her  argument  was,  that  fasts 
and  festivals  were  ordered,  and  that  there  was  a  form  of  daily 
service  in  the  prayer-book,  which  the  clergyman  of  the  parish 
intended  to  use  ;  and  she  asked  me  whether  I  thought  we  were 
at  liberty  to  follow  our  notions  of  right,  rather  than  obey  the  rules 
of  the  Church." 

"It  is  a  strong  way  of  putting  the  case,"  said  Edith:  "the 
reasoning  I  have  generally  heard  has  been  upon  a  question  of 
expediency." 

"  Perhaps  I  might  have  been  inclined  to  reason  with  any  one 
e'se,"  said  Gertrude,  "  but  it  was  'mpossible  in  that  instance.  I 
do  not  think  she  would  have  understood  it ;  and  when  she  saw 
me  pause  and  consider,  she  merely  said,  '  Don't  you  think  it 
would  be  safer  to  do  what  we  are  told  ?'  " 

"  And  did  that  convince  you  ?"  exclaimed  Edith. 

'■  Not  as  to  the  theory,  but  it  did  as  to  the  practice." 

"Yet  you  must  have  felt  yourself  immensely  superior  to  her 
all  the  time,"  began  Edith  ;  "but  Gertrude  stopped  her  before  the 
completion  of  the  sentence. 

"  Oh,  Edith  !"  she  said,  "  you  do  not  know  of  whom  you  are 
speaking.  Even  then  I  felt  she  was  meet  for  happiness,  and 
three  months  afterwards  she  died.  How  could  I  be  her  supe- 
rior 1" 

"  In  intellect,  surely  vou  were,  from  your  own  account,"  said 
Edith. 

"But  what  is  intellect!"  replied  Gertrude.  "How  can  it 
weigh  for  one  instant  in  the  balance  against  an  honest  and  good 
heart,  which  she  possessed  in  a  greater  degree  than  any  other 
person  I  ever  knew." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Edith,  with  a  sigh,  "  that  I  should  not  feel 
as  you  do.  I  could  scarcely  have  brought  myself  to  listen  to  the 
suggestion  of  one  whose  judgment  I  thought  lightly  of." 

"  I  did  not  think  lightly  of  it,"  replied  her  sister.  "  Consider, 
Edith,  from  whom  nil  good  comes.  Her  knowledge  of  duty  wan 
clearly  not  the  result  of  human  reasoning,  and  therefore  seemed 
to  claim  the  more  reverence." 

"  But  about  the  Church,"  said  Edith.  "I  don't  see  how  think- 
ing of  it  will  act  upon  daily  conduct." 

"  Try,"  said  Gertrude.  "  The  next  time  a  morning  visilei 
comes,  and  you  are  worried  at  being  interrupted,  jus)  think  of  her 
as  a  member  of  the  Church,  ami  therefore  as  having  the  same 
blessing?  and  the  same   prospects  as  yourself,  and  see  whethei 


178  GERTRUDE. 


you  will  not  feel  an  interest  in  her,  and  be  much  more  inclined 
Lo  be  kind  and  attentive  to  her." 

Edith  laughed  in  spite  of  the  seriousness  of  the  subject. 
"  Don't  be  shocked  at  me,  Gertrude,"  she  said  "  But  you  know 
morning  visiters  are  allowed  to  be  the  greatest  torments  in  life. 
Every  one  says  it ;  and  it  seems  absurd  to  talk  gravely  about 
then.."" 

"  That  is  rather  what  I  said  just  now,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
"  we  create  difficulties  for  ourselves.  Look  at  a  morning  visiter 
merely  as  a  morning  visiter,  and  the  tone  of  your  rnind  js  lower- 
ed directly  ; — you  cannot  help  it.  She  very  frequent!)'  breaks 
in  upon  your  time,  and  tries  your  temper,  and  you  cannot  help 
wishing  to  be  alone  again  ;  and  when  you  once  have  this  feeling, 
your  style  of  conversation  will  be  lowered  too  ;  and  as  a  mere 
mode  of  passing  a  few  minutes,  you  will  naturally  speak  of  your 
neighbors." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  "I  have  felt  that  many  times.  I  don't 
Ji ink  really  I  am  fond  of  gossip,  but  persons  would  think  I  was 
who  heard  me  talk,  merely  because,  as  you  say,  I  want  to  pass 
away  a  few  minutes." 

"  And  yet  morning  visits  are  not  trifles,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  Even  those  which  are  most  hurried  and  uninteresting  must 
make  some  impression  upon  our  minds — they  must  tell  in  some 
degree  upon  our  destiny  for  Eternity." 

"  It  is  a  fearful  way  of  viewing  things,"  said  Edith. 

"  But  if  it  is  true,  dearest,  why  should  we  shrink  from  it  1  Will 
it  not  be  better  to  pass  through  life  with  awe  and  trembling, 
watching  our  every  step,  and  so  learning  to  lean  the  more  stead- 
fastly upon  God,  than  to  wake  up,  when  it  is  too  late,  to  the  knowl- 
edge that  what  we  called  trifles  were  the  only  opportunities  af- 
forded us  of  fitting  ourselves  lor  heaven  ?" 

"  There  would  be  but  little  merriment  on  earth  if  all  thought 
as  you  do,  Gertrude,"  said  Edith. 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude  :  "  there  would  be  care,  and  prudence, 
and  at  times  anxiety  ;  but  when  we  once  set  ourselves  earnestly 
to  the  work,  we  should  be  cheerful,  as  children  are  cheerful,  who 
can  play  in  the  midst  of  danger,  because  they  have  faith  in  a  fa- 
ther's power  to  protect  them." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  which  Edith  was  the  first  to  break. 
"I  can  fancy,"  she  said,  "that  dwelling  much  upon  our  position 
as  belonging  to  the  Church,  would  make  things  appear  more  se- 
rious, if  we  could  only  remember  it  at  the  right  time." 

"  It  would  become  a  habit  by  degrees,"  said  Gertrude,  :'  and 
then  it  would  influence  every  action  ;  and  for  this  reason, — that 
it  is  to  the  Christian  what  the  consciousness  of  noble  birth  is  to 
the  man  of  the  world.     It  gives  a  feeling  of  dignity  and  impor- 


GERTRUDE .  171' 

tar.ce.  though  without  any  admixture  of  pride.  When  we  know 
ourselves  to  be  what  the  Bible  says — '  heirs  of  God  and  joint 
heirs  with  Christ' — I  think  we  shall  be  hardly  tempted  to  act 
lightlv,  and  the  fear  of  falling  away  will  be  constantly  before  us, 
to  make  us  watch  against  sin.  Do,  dear  Edith,  read  over  St. 
Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  carefully,  and  see  whether  the 
whole  argument  does  not  rest  upon  this  foundation  :  and  then 
think  what  a  calm,  contented,  humble  tone  of  mind  must  be  the 
result  of  it." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  see  it,"  replied  Edith. 

"  You  will  own,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  that  as  members  of  the 
Church,  there  can  be  no  rivalry,  or  selfishness,  or  wish  to  attract 
notice  beyond  others.  Think  of  the  feeling  there  is  in  a  family 
when  any  one  is  distinguished  above  the  rest.  The  gratifica- 
tion is  felt  by  all,  because  the  honor  belongs  to  all ;  and  so  it 
is  in  the  Church."  Edith  still  looked  doubtful,  and  Gertrude 
continued  : — "  What  I  mean,"  she  said,  "  is,  that  if  we  labor 
for  the  prosperity  of  a  body,  not  for  our  own  benefit,  we  strike 
at  the  root  of  all  selfishness;  and  if  we  are  poor,  or  have  no 
talents,  or  no  opportunity  of  exercising  them,  we  shall  still  be 
satisfied,  because  the  object  we  have  at  heart — the  good  of  the 
Church  of  Christ — will  surely  be  attained,  though  not  through 
our  means." 

"  And  would  that  satisfy  you  ?"  said  Edith.  "  Could  you,  for 
instance,  bear  to  be  told  that  the  church  at  Torrington  was  to  be 
built  by  another  person  !" 

Gertrude  was  silent,  and  when  her  sister  turned  to  look  at  her, 
the  expression  of  her  countenance  showed  that  the  question  had 
excited  some  painful  feeling. 

"  You  have  misunderstood  me,  dearest,"  she  said  at  length,  in 
her  usual  quiet  manner ;  "  I  could  not  dare  to  speak  to  you  ot 
myself,  or  of  what  I  should  feel  under  any  circumstances.  To 
see  the  height  one  longs  to  attain,  is  far  different  from  setting 
out  on  the  weary  journey  to  reach  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  and  she  sighed  deeply ;  "  it  is  a  weary 
journey.  And  if  you  find  it  so,  Gertrude,  what  must  it  be  to 
me  '" 

Gertrude  was  about  to  answer,  when  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Dacre  at  the  farther  end  of  the  waU  stopped  her. 

"The  hour  is  come  at  last,"  said  Edith,  with  a  smile,  which 
w:is  checked,  as  she  saw  the  color  fade  from  her  sister's  cheek, 
and  felt  her  arm  tremble. 

"Who  would  think  I  could  be  so  absurd?"  said  Gertrude: 
"  yet  if  he  should  bring  forward  any  objections  1  have  not  seen, 
it  would  be  such  a  bitter  disappointment." 

Edith  was  inclined  to  remind  her  of  her  own  principles,  bul 
(the  felt  it  would    be    almost  a  reproach.     Gertrude,  however 


(80  GERTRUDE. 


needed  no  suggestions  ;  "  I  know  what  you  would  say,'  she  con 
tinued,  observing  that  Edith  was  going  to  speak  ;  "  if  it  is  not  mj 
duty,  it  will  still  be  performed  by  the  person  whom  God  sees 
fitted  for  it ;  and  then,  Edith,  you  must  teach  me  to  submit." 

Edith  pressed  her  sister's  hand,  without  venturing  upon  a  re- 
ply :  and,  turning  into  another  path,  left  Gertrude  to  open  the 
subject  of  her  wishes  to  Mr.  Dacre. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

"  We  thought  you  would  have  been  tempted  out  before  this,' 
was  Gertrude's  first  observation,  as  she  walked  by  Mr.  Dacre's 
side,  not  knowing  how  to  introduce  the  desired  topic. 

"  Ten  years  ago  I  should  have  been,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  but 
illness  makes  an  old  man  think  more  of  the  charms  of  repose  than 
of  a  beautiful  evening ;  besides,  you  were  so  fully  engaged,  I 
should  only  have  been  an  interruption." 

"  Not  that,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  in  an  eager,  trem- 
bling voice  :  "  I  was  wishing  for  you  so  much — I  thought — I 
wanted " 

"Any  thing  that  I  can  give  V  said  Mr.  Dacre,  struck  by  the 
hesitation  so  foreign  to  her  usual  manner. 

"  1  do  not  know,"  replied  Gertrude,  struggling  to  regain  her 
self-possession  ;  "  and  yet  I  do  know.  If  you  would  listen  to  me 
— I  think  that  is  what  I  want  most." 

"  You  are  looking  upon  me  as  a  stranger,"  said  Mr.  Dacre, 
in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproof,  "  and  it  does  me  injustice.  I  was  a 
father  once,  and  1  have  not  forgotten  a  father's  feelings." 

Gertrude  tried  to  answer,  but  her  words  came  with  difficulty. 
"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said  at  length,  "  but  indeed  I  do  not  think 
of  you  as  a  stranger ;  if  I  did,  I  could  not  let  you  know  what  is 
in  inv  thoughts."  IShe  stopped  again;  and  Mr.  Dacre  looked  at 
her  inquiringly. 

"  Do  not  keep  me  in  suspense,"  he  said  ;  "if  I  can  be  of  any 
service,  you  have  only  to  name  it." 

"  1  don't  know  why  I  should  trouble  you,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
and  then,  unheeding  the  appearance  of  abruptness,  she  contin- 
ued, rapidlv,  "  I  have  a  wish — a  great  wish  :  it  has  been  in  my 
mind  for  years — and  I  think  it  is  right,  but  I  am  not  sure.  It  is 
such  an  important  thing  ;  so  very  serious  ;  it  does  not  seem  as 
if  it  could  be  intended  for  me  to  do  it ; — only  I  have  the  means. 
I — I  wish, — I  should  like," — and  with  evident  effort  the  words  al 
Ust  were  spoken, — "  I  should  be  so  glad  to  build  a  church  at 


GERTRUDE.  181 


Torrington."  She  paused,  and  finding  that  Mr.  Dacre  did  not 
immediately  answer,  continued,  as  if  anxious  tc  relieve  herself 
of  a  burden  weighing  upon  her  heart, — "  You  must  know,  I 
think,  I  am  richer  than  my  sisters.  My  aunt's  fortune  is  mine 
now  ;  I  have  five  hundred  a  year  at  my  own  disposal,  and  there 
are  no  claims  upon  me  yet ;  and  if  there  were,  this  would  seem 
almost  the  greatest,  because  ihe  place  belongs  to  Edward,  and 
he  cannot  do  any  thing  for  it  himself, — he  has  said  so  several 
times.  If  it  were  a  common  thing,  I  should  not  hesitate  ;  but  I 
think  you  will  understand  ;  it  would  give  me  such  pleasure,  ] 
am  afraid  I  may  not  see  whether  it  is  my  duty ;  and  if  I  am  pre- 
sumptuous, and  do  not  undertake  it  rightly,  God's  blessing  may 
not  go  with  it ;  and  I  think  about  it  sometimes  till  I  am  fright- 
ened ;  and  fancy  that  perhaps  I  ought  to  give  away  my  money 
differently  now,  upon  things  which  would  be  greater  sacrifices, 
and  wait  for  this  till  I  have  lived  longer,  and  suffered  more,  and 
learned  to  be  better,  only  the  case  seems  so  urgent ;  but  then 
a^ain  I  long  to  be  able  to  do  it  so  much  that  perhaps  I  am  not  a 
good  judge.  It  may  not  be  my  duty,  though  I  fancy  it  is — if  you 
would  only  give  me  your  opinion." 

Mr.  Dacre  still  hesitated,  and  Gertrude,  looking  at  him  anx- 
iously, said,  "  I  have  tried  to  prepare  myself  for  objections  and 
disappointment." 

••  Needlessly,  1  hope,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  recovering  from  the 
feeling  of  surprise  at  a  request  for  advice  so  different  from  any 
he  could  have  expected  ;  ''I  will  tell  you  first,  that  I  fully  under- 
stand your  feelings.  An  offering  of  this  kind  is  a  most  solemn 
duty,  and  must  not  be  undertaken  lightly.  It  may  be  that  the 
spirit  in  which  it  is  commenced  will  prove  a  blessing  or  a  curse 
upon  generations  to  come." 

"Thank  you,"  exclaimed  Gertrude;  "I  thought  you  would 
understand  me.  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  very  sad  that 
worldly  motives  should  be  mixed  with  works  of  religion  ;  and 
occasionally,  when  I  have  seen  the  ruins  of  old  churches  and  ab- 
beys, 1  have  thought  that  there  might  have  been  something  want- 
ing in  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  begun,  and  therefore  they 
\mk:  suffered  to  decay;  and  it  seemed  impossible  then  that  it 
could  ever  be  my  duly  t'i  attempt  such  things." 

"  Vet,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  "  we  must  be  careful  that  self- 
distrust  does  not  lead  us  into  a  morbid  fear  of  being  presumptu- 
ous. The  most  fervent  piety  could  not  prevent  our  offerings 
from  beinir  marred  by  some  earthly  alloy;  and  it  would  be  rather 
a  doubt  of  God's  mercy  than  of  our  own  worthiness,  which  would 
lead  us  to  fold  our  hands  and  do  nothing,  because  what  we  did  was 
not  perfect." 

•■  Then  you  think  that  I  might — you   do  not  see  any  objec 
lions!"  inquired  (Gertrude. 


182  GERTRUDE. 


"  Not  at  this  moment,"  was  the  reply  ;  but  Mr.  Dacre's  tone 
was  less  certain  than  Gertrude  had  expected.  "  Can  you  beat 
to  hear  the  subject  discussed  in  a  cool,  dispassionate,  perhaps 
you  would  call  it,  a  worldly  manner,  now  that  you  know  how  en- 
tirely I  feel  with  you?" 

"  Why  should  it  be  worldly]"  said  Gertrude. 

"  The  word  sounds  out  of  place,  I  own  ;  but  when  I  say  world- 
ly, I  do  not  for  an  instant  mean  to  imply  that  we  must  lower  our 
principles,  but  merely  that  we  must  not  let  zeal,  however  pure, 
warp  our  sober  judgment." 

Gertrude's  countenance  expressed  disappointment.  "  It  fright- 
ens me  to  hear  zeal  condemned,"  she  said  ;  "  these  are  not  days 
when  it  is  too  abundant." 

"  It  is  not  the  virtue,  but  the  manner  of  exercising  it,  which 
we  must  guard  against,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre.  "  I  have  often  found 
it  advisable,  when  my  heart  has  been  very  much  set  on  any  ob- 
ject, to  endeavor  to  view  it  in  the  same  light  in  which  it  would 
be  regarded  by  men  of  the  world  ;  and  I  hope  by  that  means,  I 
may  have  avoided  giving  unnecessary  offence." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  a  man  of  the  world  would  say  to  my 
project]"  inquired  Gertrude. 

"  The  first  question  he  would  be  likely  to  ask,"  replied  Mr. 
Dacre,  "  would  be  as  to  any  other  claims  upon  your  fortune  ;  but 
this  you  tell  me  has  been  already  considered." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Gertrude  :  "  there  are  no  family  claims  cer- 
tainly." 

Mr.  Dacre  hesitated  a  little  before  proceeding.  He  was 
doubtful  how  far  his  suggestions  might  be  considered  intrusive. 
"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  there  are  no  claims  which  are  absolutely 
pressing,  but  is  it  not  as  well  to  guard  against  any  appearance 
of  injustice  !  I  mean,  that  when  you  are  calculating  how  much 
you  may  expend,  you  should  take  into  consideration  that  other 
persons  may  have  naturally  and  fairly  looked  forward  to  some 
increase  of  their  own  comforts  when  you  come  into  possession 
of  your  property." 

"  I  understand  you  now,"  exclaimed  Gertrude.  "  I  know  that 
I  cannot  live  at  home  upon  the  same  footing  with  my  sisters, 
though  we  have  all  an  equal  share  in  the  family  property.  I 
ought  to  add  something  to  it." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  think  you  should  ;  and  this  might  be 
first  cared  for.  It  will  not  prevent  your  following  out  your  own 
wishes  afterwards,  hut  it  will  prevent  any  one  from  blaming  you 
for  doing  it.     It  will  be  avoiding  the  appearance  of  evil." 

"  And  my  sisters,"  said  Gertrude.  "  I  have  thought  of  them 
ulso.  Edith  agrees  so  entirely  with  me,  that  she  will  not  hear 
ot  my  reserving  any  portion  for  her;  but  I  should  be  sorry  R>« 
he  others  to  be  disappointed." 


GERTRUDE.  1S3 


"And  most  probably,"  observed  Mr.  Dacre,  "the  very  cart 
you  show  for  them  will  induce  them  to  enter  more  fully  into 
your  plans,  and  be  anxious  to  share  them.  It  is  a  great  thing  to 
put  it  into  a  person's  power  to  act  rightly." 

"  One  so  longs  to  do  every  thing,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose in  all  these  cases  there  must  be  some  self-denial." 

"  Yes,  and  where  there  is  not,  any  virtue  must  be  doubtful  : 
generosity,  for  instance — which  is  a  mere  luxury,  unless  it  is 
founded  upon  the  restriction  of  personal  indulgence." 

"  And  justice,"  added  Gertrude  smiling,  "  which  you  have 
been  so  carefully  inculcating  upon  me." 

"  Not  because  I  thought  you  had  quite  forgotten  it,  but  be- 
cause it  is  a  grave,  shy  virtue,  very  fond  of  keeping  in  the  back- 
ground— hidden  like  the  stars  by  the  sunlight  of  generosity — 
though  without  it  the  most  munificent  actions  may  be,  and  gen. 
erally  are,  condemned,  and  by  none  more  than  by  keen-sighted, 
cold-hearted  men  of  the  world  ;  and  so  we  return  to  the  point 
from  which  we  set  out, — that  it  is  well  to  look  at  our  actions  in 
the  way  in  which  they  look  at  them,  that  we  may  not  give  un- 
necessary offence,  and  repel  instead  of  attract  them." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Gertrude,  "  these  necessary  provisions 
will  principally  interfere  with  the  endowment.  The  church 
need  not  be  large  for  such  a  small  district,  and  I  could  manage 
it  without  the  least  difficulty.  What  I  should  have  wished  cer- 
tainly would  have  been  to  have  done  all  that  might  be  required 
— school-rooms,  and  things  of  that  kind  ;  but  I  suppose  it  would 
be  better  not  to  attempt  too  much, — the  endowment  is  of  so 
much  more  importance." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Dacre:  "once  provide  a  good  clergyman, 
and  as  far  as  human  calculation  goes,  you  need  have  no  fear  ot 
the  result  being  what  you  wish." 

"It  will  be  but  a  small  income,"  replied  Gertrude;  "five 
thousand  pounds,  or  even  six  or  seven,  will  not  go  very  far  in 
these  days." 

"If  it  is  all  that  is  allowed  you  to  give  there  can  be  no  cause 
for  regret.  The  blessing  rests  not  upon  the  little  or  the  much, 
but  upon  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered." 

Gertrude  sighed.  "And  that,"  she  said  after  a  short  silence, 
"  we  forget.  Things  become  so  low  and  earthly  when  we  descend 
to  details." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre  :  "  they  are  the  body  of  dust  in 
which  the  spirit  is  enshrined  ;  and  I  fear  you  are  scarcely  aw:ire 
of  the  trouble  and  even  pain  you  are  bringing  upon  yourself  by 
engaging  in  them.  But  it  is  a  great  victory  when  we  have  learnt 
to  infuse  a  holy  principle  into  the  minutest  concerns  of  lite— 
money  matters  especially 


184  GERTRUDE. 

"  Edward  must  be  spoken  to,"  said  Gertrude,  "and  mamma 
and  my  sisters ;  but  I  wish  there  was  no  occasion  for  it." 

"  Your  brother  of  course  has  the  first  claim  to  be  consulted 
I  should  be  glad  to  spare  you  the  effort  of  mentioning  it,  but  it  is 
impossible." 

"  It  will  be  the  hardest  task  of  all,"  said  Gertrude.  "  And  I 
seem  to  know  so  little  of  him.  I  shall  be  sadly  afraid  of  jarring 
upon  him." 

Mr.  Dacre  smiled,  but  it  was  not  cheerfully.  "You  must  jar 
upon  him,"  he  replied  ;  "  for  many  reasons  you  must.  Princi- 
pally, because  the  duty  is  one  which  was  once  his  own  ;  and 
scarcely  any  person  can  bear  to  see  another  fulfil  his  office. 
And  now  I  must  give  you  one  piece  of  advice,  which  I  am  afraid 
will  sound  cold  and  prudent  beyond  what  is  necessary.  If  at 
the  end  of  six  months,  you  see  no  reason  to  alter  your  plans, 
then  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  begin  immediately ;  but  I  think 
you  will  be  doing  right  to  wait,  and  well  consider  every  objec- 
tion,— to  'count  the  cost,'  in  fact,  before  you  undertake  so  great 
a  work." 

Gertrude  was  scarcely  disappointed  by  this  suggestion,  for 
she  had  not  believed  it  possible  to  follow  out  her  plans  imme- 
diately. All  that  she  desired  was  the  permission  to  think  upon 
them.  Mr.  Dacre  did  not  press  the  point.  He  seemed  wearied, 
and  Gertrude  proposed  they  should  return  to  the  house.  He 
stopped,  however,  before  entering,  and  in  a  voice  almost  tremu- 
lous from  repressed  feeling,  said,  "  The  first  wish  of  my  hoart 
would  have  been  gratified,  if  it  had  been  permitted  me  to  have 
had  such  a  conversation  with  my  own  child  as  I  have  now  held 
with  you.  Will  you  let  me  consider  it  a  bond  of  union  between 
us,  and  allow  me  to  help  you,  if  possible,  under  all  circumstances, 
as  I  would  have  helped  her  ]" 

Gertrude's  answer  was  a  warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  which 
said  all  that  Mr.  Dacre  required.  Edith  met  them  at  the  door, 
and  read  in  her  sister's  calm  sweet  smile  that  all  her  doubts 
were  at  rest;  but  there  was  something  of  disturbance  in  Mr. 
Dacre's  countenance,  which  now  that  Ediih's  thoughts  were  less 
occupied  by  Gertrude,  she  could  not  avoid  noticing.  It  was  re- 
marked, however,  only  by  herself.  The  evening  passed  as  usual ; 
if  any  secret  care  was  preying  on  his  mind,  it  was  diverted 
by  music  and  conversation ;  and  when  the  little  ptrty  broke  up, 
the  observation  made  was,  that  Mr.  Dacre  had  seldom  appeared 
so  comfortable.  And  Gertrude  retired  to  her  room,  to  indulge 
for  the  fust  time  without  fear  the  dream  that  had  haunted  her  from 
childhood.  She  knelt  in  her  accustomed  place  to  repeat  hei 
accustomed  prayers ;  but  as  she  had  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out 
•ill  earthly  objects,  tall  clustering  pillars,  and  carving,  and  fret 


GERTRUDE.  185 

work,  arose  before  her,  and  in  imagination  she  felt  herself  wor 
shipping  in  the  temple  of  holiness  which  she  was  about  to  raise 
to  her  Maker's  honor  ;  and  when  her  head  was  laid  upon  hei 
pillow,  the  same  visions  floated  before  her  in  dim  and  shadowy 
beauty :  while  tones  of  solemn  music  seemed  borne  upon  the 
soft  night  breeze  to  sooth  her  sinking  fancy,  with  the  prophecy 
of  what  might  so  soon  be  reality. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


It  was  late  on  the  following  morning  that  Laura,  after  a  tile- 
a-tete  breakfast  witli  her  husband,  of  more  than  usual  length  and 
silence,  wandered  into  her  morning  room,  to  endeavor,  if  pos- 
sible, to  find  some  occupation  that  might  pleasantly  engage  her 
thoughts,  and  prevent  her  from  dwelling  upon  the  contrast  be- 
tween Edward's  present  gloom  and  reserve,  and  the  light-heart- 
ed cheerfulness  of  former  days.  It  was  useless  to  account  for 
the  change,  by  attributing  it  to  a  passing  annoyance.  Certainly 
he  had  pronounced  the  coffee  insipid  and  badly  made,  the  eggs 
not  sufficiently  boiled,  the  marmalade  inferior,  the  cutlets  uneata- 
ble ;  but  Laura  full,  too  truly  that  the  real  grievance  lay  in  the 
secrecy  of  his  own  heart.  It  might  perhaps  have  been  increas- 
ed by  some  information  in  the  letters,  which  so  deeply  absorbed 
his  attention  as  to  cause  him  entirely  to  forget  his  wife's  pres- 
ence ;  or  it  might  be  attributed  to  the  last  night's  interview  with 
.Mr.  Rivers,  which  had  occasioned  her  a  dreary,  solitary  even- 
ing :  or  it  might  be  the  result  of  General  Forester's  visits,  which 
had  latterly  become  very  frequent,  and  never  failed  to  put  him 
out  of  humor  ;  but  after  long  consideration,  it  still  remained  a 
mystery,  known  only  by  its  fatal  effect  upon  her  domestic  happi- 
ness. Erom  her  husband,  Laura  turned  for  comfort  to  her  child 
but  the  nurse  had  taken  him  out,  and  Ik;  was  nowhere  to  be 
found  :  and  in  his  absence  she  would  willingly  have  had  recourse 
to  a  friend  ;  but  at  the  thought  of  Miss  Funster,  Laura's  counte- 
nance  assumed  a  deeper  gravity,  and  something  like  a  tear  dim- 
med her  bright  eye.  There  was  but  one  person  whom  at  that 
moment  she  could  have  seen  with  pleasure,  though  why,  she 
could  not  have  told.  Gertrude's  features  were  plain,  her  man- 
ners were  simple,  her  talents  were  not  brilliant:  she  never  was 
known  to  flatter — she  did  not  appear  anxious  to  please;  and 
liaura  had  been  idolized  from  her  cradle,  and  taught  to  considei 


18(3  GERTRUDE 


elegance,  beauty,  and  vivacity  essential  to  an  agreeable  person 
and  their  deficiency  only  to  be  atoned  for  by  the  homage  showr. 
to  her  own  superiority.  There  could  not  have  been  two  charac- 
ters more  unlike — and  Edith  would  have  said  that,  as  a  neces- 
sary consequence,  it  would  have  been  useless  to  attempt  crea- 
ting any  mutual  interest  between  them.  And  yet,  in  Laura's 
present  state  of  depression,  the  thought  of  Gertrude's  gentle 
smile,  and  the  recollection  of  her  soothing  voice  was  like  the 
oasis  in  the  wilderness — the  one  green  spot  on  which  alone  she 
could  bear  to  dwell.  For  Gertrude  had  gradually  and  unobtru- 
sively connected  herself  with  Laura's  best  and  happiest  feelings. 
In  many  a  morning  conversation  and  evening  walk  she  had  giv- 
en her  that  which  we  are  accustomed  to  consider  a  trifle,  to  be 
bestowed  according  to  the  humor  of  the  moment — sincere,  un- 
affected attention.  Laura  spoke  of  her  childhood,  and  Gertrude's 
questions  led  her  to  enter  into  details  of  her  home  ;  she  mention- 
ed her  first  acquaintance  with  Edward,  and  Gertrude,  instead  of 
bringing  forward  other  instances  of  happy  marriages  after  a 
short  acquaintance,  made  her  relate  the  little  details  which  were 
fondly  treasured  in  her  memory.  She  told  of  her  foreign  tour, 
and  Gertrude,  though  she  had  never  travelled  herself,  entered 
fully  into  her  pleasures  and  disappointments ;  and  above  all, 
when,  with  a  mother's  doting  partiality,  Laura  praised  her  dar- 
ling child,  Gertrude  showed  no  symptoms  of  weariness,  but  lis- 
tened to  the  little  incidents  of  his  daily  life,  and  deduced  from 
them  his  future  character,  with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  their 
positions  had  been  reversed  :  and  this  without  effort  or  insinceri- 
ty, but  because  she  had  taught  herself  to  look  upon  all  connected 
with  her,  or  related  to  her,  as  portions  of  one  great  family, 
into  which  she  had  been  born  at  her  baptism.  It  is  a  habit  of 
immense  importance — that  quiet  attention  of  which  we  think  so 
little  ;  we  speak  of  sympathy  and  commend  it,  and  wonder  that 
it  is  so  rare  and  so  difficult  of  attainment;  and  the  next  minute 
lose  ourselves  in  a  dream  of  business  or  enjoyment,  and  repei 
with  a  short  answer  or  an  abstracted  look  the  very  persons  who 
most  require  our  friendship  ;  and  when  once  repelled  we  may 
regret,  but  we  can  scarcely  hope  to  retrieve  our  error.  The 
regard  and  confidence,  however,  which  Gertrude  had  thus  awa- 
kened in  Laura's  mind,  were  as  yet  shown  only  in  trifles.  Laura 
had  not  become  sufficiently  unreserved  to  speak  to  her  of  her 
hidden  causes  of  anxiety.  All  that  she  felt  was  a  sense  of  pro- 
tection in  Gertrude's  presence  ;  and  w  hen  oppressed  by  care, 
something  of  refreshment  and  repose  in  the  tones  of  kindness, 
which  expressed  sympathy  without  asking  why  it  was  needed. 
But  on  this  morning  Laura  was  not  destined  to  receive  any  such 
comfort.  A  short  time  only  elapsed  after  she  had  left  the  break- 
fast  table,  and  the  w:is  still  standing  sadly  at  the  window  of  hei 


GERTRUDE.  181 


morning  room,  when  a  gentle,  a  very  gentle  tap  was  beard  at 
the  door,  and  with  an  involuntary  shrinking  she  gave  permission 
for  Miss  Forester  to  enter. 

"  Alone  as  usual,''  was  the  first  observation  that  greeted 
Laura's  ear,  recalling  in  insinuating  accents  her  now  frequent 
subjects  of  complaint  against  Edward  :  "  I  thought  it  would  be  so." 

"  We  have  just  finished  breakfast,"  replied  Laura,  impatient  at 
any  imputation  upon  her  husband  from  another  person,  however 
she  might  be  inclined  to  find  fault  with  him  herself. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  late  at  night,  I  know ;  and  my  father  says  Mr. 
Courtenay  looks  dreadfully  harassed  just  now.  This  prospect  of 
a  change  of  ministers,  and  another  election,  must  give  him  a 
great  deal  to  think  of." 

"  So  soon  ?  it  is  impossible.     lie  has  said  nothing  to  me." 

"  Very  likely  ;  the  thing  is  not  certain  :  and  gentlemen  seldom 
think  it  worth  while  to  converse  with  ladies  about  politics — my 
father  excepted.  He  tells  me  everything.  But  I  did  not  intend 
to  talk  to  you  about  elections ;  my  business  is  a  little  private 
affair  of  our  own."  And  Miss  Forester  drew  her  chair  near  to 
Laura,  and  lowered  her  voice  to  the  strictly  intimate  mysterious 
tone,  while  she  took  from  her  reticule  a  packet  of  papers  and 
letters.  Laura  with  difficulty  suppressed  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
iooked  uneasily  at  the  door.  "  You  reed  have  no  fear,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Forester ;  "  if  any  person  should  come  in,  they 
would  not  understand  any  tiling.  In  fact,  there  is  little  to  under- 
stand ;  it  is  a  mere  trille  ;  and  I  should  not  have  reminded  you  of 
the  affair,  but  that  Hanson's  bill  came  by  this  day's  post,  and  I 
thought  you  would  be  glad  to  see  it." 

"And  know  the  worst,"  murmured  Laura. 

"  No,  no  ;  you  must  not  call  it  the  worst — a  few  hundreds  can 
be  nothing  to  you.  It  is  absurd  to  look  at  this  splendid  room,  and 
then  think  of  your  being  distressed  at  a  jeweller's  account." 

"  You  forget  Waterloo  House,  and  Madame  Larue,  and  your- 
self." 

■•  Myself!  that  really  is  not  worth  mentioning ;  merely  a 
question  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  you  who  have  thousands. 
Waterloo  House,  too,  is  nothing;  and  as  to  Madame  Larue, 
she  is  a  perfect  impostor.  Hanson  is  the  most  provoking  of 
them  all ;  and  of  course  impertinent  dunning  from  him  comes 
home  to  me,  because  the  last  purchases  weie  made  in  my 
ii:uiio."  This  was  said  with  a  martyr-like  air,  which  was  both 
painful  and  irritating  to  poor  Laura;  but  without  trusting  herself 
to  notice,  sin'  said,  hesitatingly, 

"  I  thought — but  I  must  have  been  mistaken, — only  I  under- 
stood that  you  could  arrange  these  things,  without  trouble,  lor 
me." 

It  was  now   Miss  Forester's  turn  to  be  confused  ;  but  she  had 


18S  GERTRUDE. 


studied  her  part  beforehand,  and  knew  well  how  she  was  to  act. 
Her  eyes  were  bent  on  the  ground,  and  her  fingers  busy  with  the 
silk  tassel  of  her  parasol,  while  with  an  effort  more  evident  than 
was  necessary,  she  said — 

"  Certainly  I  had  thought  so  ;  nothing  could  have  given  me 
greater  pleasure  ;  but  you  know, — I  can  scarcely  bring  myself 
to  say  it — these  are  not  tirr.es  when  it  is  in  one's  power  to  do  all 
that  one  wishes.  With  Mr.  Courtenay's  guarantee  there  would 
be  no  difficulty  ;  but  without  it,  however  my  own  inclinations 
might  prompt  me  to  make  sacrifices  for  one  so  dear,  I  do  not 
think  my  father  would  approve." 

"  But  you  said — you  told  me — "  began  Laura,  and  her  voice 
trembled  as  she  spoke. 

"And  at  the  time,"  interrupted  Miss  Forester,  "I  fully  be- 
lieved that  I  could  have  accommodated  you  without  difficulty ; 
but  the  last  few  days  have  forced  me  most  unwillingly  to  alter  my 
views.     My  father  so  highly  disapproves" 

"General  Forester!"  exclaimed  Laura,  starting  from  her 
seat,  and  drawing  up  her  slender  figure  to  its  full  height,  while 
the  flush  of  indignation  crimsoned  her  face  and  neck.  "  How 
could  he  know  1  how  could  he  venture  to  offer  an  opinion  upon 
the  subject  ?" 

"  You  forget,"  replied  Miss  Forester,  coolly,  and  a  sarcastic 
smile  curled  the  corner  of  her  thin  lip,  "  the  business  is  mine  ; 
and  the  interest  of  a  father  and  a  daughter  are  inseparable." 
Laura  reseated  herself,  despairingly,  and  the  expression  of  sar- 
casm on  Miss  Forester's  countenance  became  more  marked  as  she 
proceeded  :  "  It  was  a  disagreeable  task,  but  my  father  is  not  a 
man  to  be  trifled  with.  The  money  which  I  had  advanced  was 
indeed  my  own,  but  the  authority  of  a  parent  is  too  sacred  to  be 
disputed  ;  and  when  he  insisted,  a  few  days  since,  upon  receiv- 
ing some  account  of  my  little  pittance,  that  he  might  be  better 
able  to  settle  a  business  matter  of  his  own,  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  refuse." 

"  Your  promise  !"  murmured  Laura. 

"  Yes,  I  own  it  was  broken  in  the  letter,  but  not  in  the  spirit. 
Your  affairs  are  as  safe  with  my  father  as  with  me.  The  only 
misfortune  now  is,  that  I  no  longer  feel  my  own  mistress.  I  can- 
not do  what  I  would.  It  is  so  distressing,  so  very  distressing  to 
confess  it." 

Laura  shrunk  from  the  touch  of  the  hand  which  was  placed 
caressingly  on  her  shoulder.  The  plausible  excuse  for  the  mo- 
ment silenced  her;  but  the  feeling  of  distrust  which  had  long 
been  gathering  in  her  mind  was  increased  to  aversion. 

'  The  affair  itself  is  a  trifle,"  continued  Miss  Forester;  "but 
just  tow,  when  Mr.  Courtenay  is  likely  to  be  much  worried,  it  is 
i  m»st  unfortunate  moment  to  be  obliged  to  call  upon  him  foi 


GERTRUDE.  Ife9 

money  ;  and  gentlemen  never  make  allowances  for  a  little  impru- 
dence in  ladies.  These  tradespeople,  too,  are  so  very  pressing. 
One  thing  is,  that  the  difficulty  will  soon  be  over  ;  it  is  but  the 
momentary  effort  of  mentioning  Amat  has  been  done." 

Laura  raised  her  head,  but  the  expression  of  her  countenance 
was  beyond  Miss  Forester's  comprehension.  She  would  have 
ridiculed  as  impossible  the  idea  that  any  person  in  Mrs.  Courte 
nay's  position  could  be  more  grieved  at  the  recollection  of  hav- 
ing been  guilty  of  deceit,  than  at  the  prospect  of  confessing  folly 
and  extravagance. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  added  Miss  Forester,  "  that  my  father  will  not 
endure  the  subject  to  be  mentioned  again,  unless  indeed, — but  I 
need  not  tease  you  ahout  politics,  I  know  you  dislike  them." 

Laura  made  a  gesture  of  impatience  :  "  Why  keep  me  in 
suspense  about  any  thing  J"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  nothing  can  tease 
me." 

"  But  it  is  such  an  intricate  business,  and  unless  you  give  your 
mind  to  it,  you  won't  understand  it ;  and  if  you  do,  you  may  not 
view  the  case  as  we  do." 

"Why?  What  are  you  speaking  of  ]"  inquired  Laura ;  and 
she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  stood  before  her  tormentor  with  a 
countenance  so  beautiful,  even  in  its  suppressed  suffering,  that 
Miss  Forester's  selfishness  was  for  the  moment  overpowered  by 
regret  for  the  pain  she  was  inflicting. 

"  My  father  says,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  think  he  must  know, 
that  after  Mr.  Courtenay's  heavy  expenses  since  the  last  elec- 
tion, he  should  be  wrong  in  permitting  me  to  involve  myself  in 
any  way  without  security  being  given  ;  and  he  implies — (you 
must  not  think  I  believe  it,  though) — that  just  now  this  would  be 
a  difficult  matter  ;  that, — in  short,  you  know  what  I  mean, — all 
gentlemen  are  distressed  at  some  time  or  other,  and  if  it  were  to 
c dine  to  the  worst,  a  few  years  abroad  would  set  every  thing  to 
rights." 

A  rdimmerinjr  of  the  truth  flashed  upon  Laura's  mind.  Ed- 
ward's  gloom,  and  impatience,  and  reserve  ;  the  long  visits  from 
Mr.  Rivers  ;  the  restless  irritation  with  which,  day  after  day, 
he  had  opened  his  letters,  all  tended  to  confirm  it :  hut  the  effect 
of  the  idea  was  not  what  Miss  Forester  had  imagined.  Laura 
neither  shed  tears,  nor  fainted,  nor  burst  into  exclamations  of  dis- 
tress ;  but  a  red  spot  burned  upon  her  colorless  cheek,  and  hei 
p:ile  lips  were  scarcely  seen  to  move,  as  in  a  nearly  inaudible 
voice  she  replied — 

"  Tell  me  why  you  say  this?" 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  be  candid  at  once,"  said  Miss  For- 
BBter,  soothingly  ;  "  and  when  I  have  put  the  case  before  you, 
you  will  see  there  need  be  no  cause  for  uneasiness,  if  Mr.  Cour- 
tenay  can  be  persuaded  to  be  reasonable.     5fou   must  know  thai 


190  GERTRUDE. 


he  has  peculiar  opinions  of  his  own,  and  will  go  against  lhe 
wishes  of  his  party.  My  father  has  often  talked  to  him,  but  he 
can  make  no  impression  ;  and  if  he  persists,  there  really  is  very 
little  chance  of  his  re-election,  at  least,  so  my  father  says.  There 
is  no  doubt,  indeed,  that  instead  of  walking  over  the  ground  with- 
out a  rival,  some  one  else  will  be  brought  forward  by  many  of 
his  former  friends  to  oppose  him." 

"  And  what  has  this  to  do  with  me  ?"  exclaimed  Laura,  im- 
patiently. 

"  You  will  see  in  one  moment,"  replied  Miss  Forester,  in  the 
same  unruffled  tone  as  before.  "  The  being  re-elected  would 
not  in  itself,  perhaps,  be  of  so  much  importance  to  Mr.  Courte- 
nay.  I  dare  say  he  could  be  very  happy  in  private  life,  though 
certainly  he  would  be  casting  away  most  brilliant  prospects  ;  but 
a  letter  my  father  had  yesterday  from  a  very  influential  quarter, 
says,  that  Mr.  Courtenay  would  certainly  be  appointed  to  a  very 
high  office  under  the  new  ministry  if  it  were  not  for  his  obstina- 
cy— (excuse  the  word) — upon  two  or  three  points  ;  the  same,  in 
fact,  which  his  friends  in  the  country  are  so  anxious  about. 
From  this  you  will  understand  how  much  depends  upon  his  be 
ing  re-elected." 

Poor  Laura  had  but  a  faint  perception  of  Miss  Forester's 
words.  They  appeared  spoken  without  any  object ;  and  again, 
though  more  mildly,  she  entreated  to  be  told  what  connection 
there  could  be  between  Edward's  being  in  Parliament,  and  her 
debts. 

"  I  think  you  will  understand  upon  consideration,"  said  Miss 
Forester,  coolly.  "  A  child  could  see  the  difference  between 
entering  into  a  money  engagement  for  the  wife  of  a  member  of 
Parliament,  holding  a  government  office,  and  the  wife  of  a 
private  gentleman  reported  to  have  considerably  outrun  his  for- 
tune." 

"  It  is  false  !  it  must  be  false  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  driving  from 
her  mind  the  doubt  which  had  a  few  minutes  before  possessed  it. 
"  How  can  General  Forester  lend  himself  to  such  gossip  I" 

"  It  may  be  false  or  not,"  replied  Miss  Forester  ;  "  but  ono 
thing  is  quite  true, — that  my  father  will  not  consent  to  allow  my 
affairs  to  remain  in  their  present  state  without  interfering,  unless 
he  finds  Mr.  Courtenay's  prospects  assume  a  different  shape 
from  their  present  one.  A  fourth  part  of  the  legacy  left  by  my 
grandmother  is  already  risked." 

Laura's  crushed  spirit  was  roused  by  the  threat  implied  in 
this  speech.  "  I  will  not  give  General  Forester  or  any  other 
person  the  trouble  of  mixing  himself  up  with  my  affairs,"  she 
replied.  "  By  to-morrow  all  shall  be  settled  ;"  and  she  moved, 
ia  order  to  suggest  to  her  visiter  to  leave  her.  But  this  was 
tar  from  Miss  Forester's  idea.     She  had  no  intention  of  bringiug 


GERTRUDE.  191 


matters  to  a  crisis,  and  separating  herself  from  Laura  entirely 
Her  wish  was  rather  to  draw  her  more  complete.y  into  hei 
power.  Notwithstanding  the  opinion  she  had  given  as  tc  the 
state  of  Mr.  Courtenay's  affairs,  neither  she  nor  her  father  be- 
lieved him  to  be  suffering  from  more  than  temporary  embar- 
rassment ;  but  the  opportunity  of  forcing  Laura  to  use  her  in- 
fluence over  her  husband,  was  one  of  which  both,  from  different 
motives,  were  must  desirous  to  take  advantage.  Since  another 
election  had  been  considered  probable,  General  Forester  had 
been  endeavoring  by  every  argument  in  his  power  to  bring  Ed- 
ward to  his  views,  and  induce  him  to  pledge  himself  to  his  party 
upon  the  points  at  issue  between  them,  and  Edward  had  con- 
tinually refused.  If  this  refusal  were  persisted  in,  his  former 
friends  were  certain  to  forsake  him,  and  bring  forward  another 
candidate  ;  there  would  then  be  a  division  of  interests,  and  the 
cause  which  General  Forester  fancied  he  had  at  heart  would 
most  probably  be  lost ;  or  perhaps,  as  the  truer  motive,  General 
Forester's  lately  acquired  importance  as  Mr.  Courtenay's  ad- 
viser and  oldest  friend  would  be  at  an  end  ;  and  he  would  re- 
turn to  his  former  insignificance.  Miss  Forester's  reasons  for 
wishing  Laura's  position  to  remain  unchanged  were  very  much 
ine  same  with  those  which  had  first  caused  her  to  thrust  herself 
upon  her  friendship.  She  liked  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
a  person  of  fortune  and  fashion,  and  felt  herself  raised  in  dignity 
both  in  town  and  in  the  country  by  being  known  as  the  chosen 
companion  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Courtenay.  And  within  the 
last  year  she  had  experienced  the  satisfaction  of  ruling  one  whom 
all  others  were  willing  to  obey.  She  had  fostered  Laura's  ex- 
travagance, assisting  her  originally  by  trilling  loans,  but  after- 
wards by  sums  which  she  had  no  power  to  repay ;  and  at 
length,  by  inducing  her  to  keep  her  affairs  a  secret,  from  the 
dread  of  her  husband's  displeasure,  she  had  bound  her  to  her, 
as  she  hoped,  forever.  Her  will  was  now  the  law  whenever 
they  were  tosether,  except  when  Edward  occasionally  objected  ; 
and  even  then  there  had  been  but  few  instances  in  which  she  had 
not  been  in  the  end  victorious,  by  insisting  upon  Laura's  urging 
in  private  what  she  could  not  venture  to  mention  in  public. 
Laura  felt  the  tyranny,  and  struggled  to  escape  from  it  ;  but 
every  day's  delay  in  confessing  her  folly  to  her  husband,  ren- 
dered her  more  completely  Miss  Forester's  slave.  The  very 
ingenuousness  of  her  disposition  made  her  shrink  from  ac- 
knowledging deceit  ;  and  though  she  had  often  been  goaded  by 
the  misery  of  her  feelings  to  the  point  of  owning  all.  she  had 
never  yet  summoned  resolution  even  to  allude  to  it.  Miss  For- 
Bfctci'  knew  well  the  person  she  had  to  govern,  and  felt  but  little 
Ol'raid  of  any  sudden  fit  of  heroism. 


192  GERTRUDE. 


"  You  understand  your  own  affairs,  no  doubt,"  she  said,  in 
answer  to  Laura's  proud  speech.  "  If  you  think  it  well  to 
trouble  Mr.  Courtenay  with  money  matters  at  this  time,  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  should  dislike  the  task  myself,  because  there 
is  no  doubt  of  his  being  very  much  pressed  ;  and  with  the 
prospect,  of  a  new  election  before  him,  he  will  certainly  be 
extremely  angry  now,  though  by-and-by  he  might  not  care 
about  it." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Laura,  indignantly,  "  that  it  was  only  a  ques- 
tion between  General  Forester's  interference  and  my  own." 

"  Oh  no  ;  you  mistake  entirely.  My  father  would  not  think  of 
such  a  thing,  if  he  were  not  obliged  to  do  so  from  consideration 
to  me.  He  and  I  have  been  talking  a  great  deal  about  the  affair 
since  yesterday,  and  he  really  has  but  one  wish — to  do  what 
is  best." 

"  Best !"  repeated  Laura,  scornfully. 

"  Yes,  best.  It  must  be  for  Mr.  Courtenay's  advantage  to  give 
up  these  foolish  scruples,  and  secure  his  seat,  and  his  appoint- 
ment;  and  it  certainly  must  be  for  yours,  because,  in  that  case 
nothing  would  be  told  to  Mr.  Courtenay  at  present,  and  I  should 
no  longer  be  forbidden  to  help  you,  as  I  have  been  able  to  do 
before.  My  father  would  be  satisfied  with  your  promise  to  use 
your  influence.  However,  since  you  are  willing  to  take  the  mat- 
ter into  your  own  hands,  I  may  as  well  leave  Hanson's  bill  with 
you,  and  go." 

She  held  out  the  paper,  but  Laura  did  not  take  it.  She  stood 
for  a  moment  as  if  stunned  ;  and  then  her  head  grew  dizzy, 
and  her  knees  trembled,  and  sinking  into  a  chair,  she  burst 
into  tears.  At  that  instant  the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  en- 
tered the  room  with  a  note,  which  he  was  going  to  give  to 
his  mistress,  but  seeing  her  incapable  of  attending  to  it,  he 
laid  it  on  the  table  and  withdrew ;  sufficiently  observing  what 
was  going  on,  to  enable  him  to  report  in  the  servants'  hall 
that  something  was  very  much  amiss,  for  Mrs.  Courtenay  was 
'n  violent  hysterics.  But  Laura  was  not  in  hysterics,  nor  any 
thing  approaching  to  them.  For  a  few  minutes  her  tears  fell 
fast ;  but  they  were  quiet  and  unobtrusive,  requiring  no  aid 
from  the  eau  de  Cologne  which  Miss  Forester  was  offering, 
as  she  stood  over  her,  with  a  patronizing  air,  smoothing  her 
shoulder,  and  begging  her  to  be  composed.  She  was  also 
quite  aware  that  the  note  had  been  brought,  and  fully  equal 
to  the  exertion  of  reading  it,  though  Miss  Forester  entreated 
her  not  to  trouble  herself  about  it,  and  proposed  to  open  it 
instead,  and  see  whether  it  required  an  answer.  Taking  it 
from  her  hand,  Laura  hastily  read  it,  but  something  there  was 
in  its  contents  which  evidently  took  her  by  surprise.     A  second 


GERTRUDE.  193 


time  she  perused  the  few  pencil  lines,  and  turned  the  paper  in 
every  direction,  to  extract  some  further  information  ;  and  at  last 
folding  it  together,  she  said,  coldly, — 

"  I  have  been  wrong  in  allowing  myself  to  give  way  ;  but  I 
am  not  equal  to  discussing  these  things  further.  They  must 
be  delayed  till  I  have  had  time  for  consideration,  and  then  I  will 
write." 

Miss  Forester  was  frightened  ;  for  Laura  had  seldom  appeared 
sc  determined.  She  would  willingly  have  pressed  the  subject, 
but  firding  that  Laura  would  not  listen,  she  pushed  the  papers 
towards  herv saying, — 

"  Then  I  may  suppose  you  are  decided.  You  will  find  the  ac- 
counts correct.  The  old  ones  and  Hanson's  bill  together  make 
up  more  than  six  hundred  pounds." 

Laura  mechanically  laid  her  hand  upon  the  papers  ;  and  then, 
scarcely  waiting  for  Miss  Forester  to  leave  the  room,  threw  her- 
self upon  the  sofa  in  an  agony  of  distress. 


CHAPTER     XXX. 

That  little  note — how  much  pain  had  it  caused!  Edward 
had  left  her  for  London  ; — left  her,  without  even  returning  from 
Elsham,  where  he  had  gone  to  speak  with  Mr.  Rivers,  to  give 
her  one  parting  kiss,  one  word  of  explanation.  Yet  his  expres- 
sions were  more  than  usually  affectionate,  as  if  purposely  meant 
to  soften  the  annoying  intelligence.  He  entreated  her  to  forgive 
him  for  what  might  appear  unkindness  in  his  sudden  departure, 
which  was  caused  by  important  business,  and  begged  her  on 
no  account  to  make  any  change  in  their  plans  for  the  week.  The 
archery  party  which  had  been  invited  for  the  next  day  but  one 
was  still  to  be  received,  for  he  had  little  doubt  that  he  should  be 
with  her  before  their  arrival.  If  any  thing  occurred  to  vex  her 
he  should  recommend  her  applying  to  Mr.  Dacre.  And  this  was 
all  ;  and  again  and  again  Laura  read  the  note,  and  again  and 
again  pondered  its  contents,  but  without  gaining  any  insight  into 
its  meaning,  beyond  the  certainty  that  something  was  amiss. 
Yet,  although  in  most  cases,  the  first  thrilling  apprehension  of 
impending  evil  is  worse  than  the  fatal  reality,  to  Laura,  the 
hints  she  had  received  from  Miss  Forester,  even  when  coupled 
with  Edward's  absence,  brought  ideas  so  vague  as  to  make  but 
a  faint  impression  upon  her  mind.  Her  own  fares  were  more 
pressing  than  her  apprehensions  Cur  the  future.  A  dark  cloud 
9 


194  GERTRUDE. 


was  hanging  over  it,  but  what  might  be  behind  she  did  not  at 
tempt  to  conjecture.  It  was  sufficient  suffering  to  know  thai 
Edward  had  gone  away  from  her  depressed  and  harassed,  and 
when  he  returned  she  must  either  brave  his  displeasure,  and 
add  to  his  heavy  anxieties,  by  confessing  her  past  folly,  or  persist 
in  a  course  of  deceit,  and  put  herself  completely  in  Miss  Fores- 
ter's power.  She  thought  long  and  deeply,  but  although  shrink- 
ing from  the  prospect  of  a  life  of  wretchedness  such  as  she  had 
lately  endured,  she  still  felt  herself  unequal  to  the  task  of  increas- 
ing Edward's  uneasiness  at  such  a  time.  Delay  seemed  every 
thing,  and  the  hope  of  relief  which  had  been  held  out  was  too 
tempting  to  be  rejected.  At  what  sacrifice  it  was  to  he  obtained 
she  did  not  fully  comprehend,  for  she  had  never  inquired  partic- 
ularly into  Edward's  views,  and  cared  so  little  for  politics,  as  to 
consider  it  generally  a  matter  of  indifference  which  side  he  sup- 
ported so  long  as  he  distinguished  himself.  Besides,  General 
Forester  was  a  man  of  honor,  and  Edward's  friend,  and  she  had 
no  just  reason  to  doubt  the  kindness  of  his  intentions  ;  and  in- 
fluenced, partly  by  the  hope  of  saving  her  husband,  and  partly  by 
the  wish  of  saving  herself,  Laura  smothered  her  pride,  though 
not  without  considerable  difficulty,  and  endeavored  to  believe  that 
by  giving  the  promise  to  do  her  utmost  in  furtherance  of  General 
Forester's  wishes,  the  threatened  storm  would  be  dispelled,  and 
all  be  bright  as  before. 

The  morning,  however,  passed  slowly  ;  work  was  irksome, 
reading  was  impossible  ;  even  little  Charlie's  gentle  tap  was 
answered  by  an  order  to  run  away  then,  and  come  again  by-and- 
by  ;  for  Laura's  mind  was  dissatisfied  ;  her  thoughts  would  re- 
vert to  the  past ;  the  events  of  her  married  life  came  before  her, 
one  after  the  otber,  and  still  with  each  was  associated  some 
remembrance  of  Edward's  trust  in  all  she  had  done  or  said  ; 
while  the  words  which  he  had  used  in  the  conversation  held  the 
day  after  their  first  arrival  at  Allingham  haunted  her  incessantly  ; 
"  We  were  to  have  no  concealment  of  any  kind."  This  had 
been  their  agreement,  and  how  had  it  been  kept  ]  If  she  fol- 
lowed General  Forester's  advice,  how  must  it  be  kept  ]  Sin- 
cerity was  still  the  foundation  of  Laura's  character, — hidden,  but 
never  destroyed,  by  the  false  principles  of  her  education,  and  the 
follies  of  her  life  ;  and,  miserable  at  the  idea  of  continued  decep- 
tion, she  longed  for  some  friend  in  whom  she  might  confide 
without  fear  ;  and  the  wish  was  no  sooner  felt  than  the  image 
of  Gertrude  rose  before  her.  But  how  would  it  be  possible  to 
apply  to  her  1  Could  one  so  free  from  weakness,  so  superior  to 
herself,  sympathize  with  her  anxieties  ]  Would  she  not  turn 
away  in  disgust  from  the  thoughtlessness  which  she  could  not 
understand,  and  reproach  instead  of  advising  her  1  If  it  had 
been  Edith,  Laura  felt  that  she   could   have  °endured  any  pain 


GERTRUDE.  195 

rather  than  confess  to  her  the  smallest  fault ;  but  Gertrude's 
winning  gentleness  and  sympathy  had  so  softened  the  effect  of 
her  strict  principles,  that  Laura's  awe  of  her  superiority  was  for- 
gotten in  the  recollection  of  her  humility  ;  and  before  the  after- 
noon was  over  she  had  ordered  her  pony  carriage,  and  was  on 
her  way  to  the  Priory,  for  the  purpose  of  acknowledging  to  her 
sister-in-law  the  errors  which  had  produced  such  bitter  conse- 
qnences.  And  Gertrude,  in  happy  ignorance  of  the  gathering 
storm  at  Allingham,  had  spent  the  morning  in  writing  for  Mr. 
Dacre  a  detail  of  all  the  plans  respecting  the  church,  and  in  trying 
to  amuse  her  mother.  Mrs.  Courtenay's  usual  habit  was  to  retire 
to  her  own  little  sitting-room  soon  after  breakfast,  from  which  she 
was  seldom  knc-wn  to  emerge  till  nearly  luncheon-time.  How 
she  occupied  herself  in  the  intermediate  time  was  a  mystery, 
which  none  of  her  family  had  hitherto  thought  it  necessary  to 
penetrate.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  letter  was  produced  for  the 
post — the  result  of  a  morning's  thought ;  and  occasionally  she 
was  heard  to  inquire  for  a  club-book  ;  but  these  were  the  excep- 
tions :  as  a  rule,  she  was  never  actually  discovered  to  have  done 
any  thing  ;  but  the  general  belief  was  that  she  principally  em- 
ployed herself  in  putting  drawings  in  order,  and  looking  over 
old  papers  ;  and  with  this  idea,  Jane,  Charlotte,  and  Edith  felt 
perfectly  at  liberty  to  follow  their  own  inclinations.  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay  never  complained,  so  of  course  she  was  happy.  Gertrude, 
however,  thought  differently,  and  was  constantly  endeavoring  tt 
persuade  her  mother  to  join  them  in  the  drawing-room  ;  but  it 
was  not  Mrs.  Courtenay's  way,  and  if  she  consented,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  out  of  her  element,  and  preferred  her  own 
apartment,  though  she  confessed  that  sometimes  it  was  rather 
lonely.  "  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
as  Gertrude  made  a  last  effort  to  persuade  her  to  remain  with 
them,  by  proposing  to  assist  her  in  her  difficult  knitting.  "  You 
know  1  never  knit  in  the  morning  :  I  am  a  great  deal  too  busy, 
though  to  be  sure,  the  day  before  yesterday,  you  all  laughed  so, 
I  had  rather  a  wish  to  come  down." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  have  entered  into  what  we  were 
laughing  about,  mamma,"  said  Charlotte;  "  it  was  a  book  Ger- 
trude was  reading  out." 

"  Very  probably,  my  dear ;  I  dare  say  I  should  not ;  but  you 
all  seemed  very  merry,  and  I  liked  to  hear  you.  I  hope  you 
Hill  do  the  same  to-day."  And  with  this  wish  Mrs.  Courtenay 
withered  up  her  keys,  her  spectacles,  and  her  knitting,  and  left 
the  room.  Her  departure  was  succeeded  by  the  beginning  of 
an  entreaty  that  Gertrude  would  enable  them  to  follow  the  advice 
which  had  been  »iven  ;  but  Gertrude  had  disappeared  ;  and 
Mrs.  Courtenay  had  only  just  reached  her  room,  when  a  soft 
roicr  a^ked  for  admittance.     "  Your  room  is  so  quiet  and  sunny 


196  GERTRUDE. 


dear  mamma,  and  mine  is  not  in  order  yet, — would  it  worry  you 
very  much  if  I  were  to  sit  here  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and 
read  1" 

Mrs.  Courtenay's  face  brightened  with  pleasure.  She  insist- 
ed upon  Gertrude's  occupying  her  favorite  seat,  and  moved  away 
every  thing  she  thought  rr  ight  be  in  her  way ;  and  Gertrude  thank- 
ed her  with  a  kiss,  and  opened  her  book. 

"  That  is  so  like  your  dear  father,  my  dear  ;  so  fond  of  reading 
he  always  was.  I  have  seen  him  sit  for  hours  together,  and  not 
open  his  lips,  when  he  had  a  book  he  liked." 

Gertrude  smiled,  and  said  that  she  had  learnt  to  prefer  quiet 
employment  from  being  so  much  with  an  invalid,  and  the  conver- 
sation dropped  ;  but  alter  a  short  pause  it  was  again  resumed  by 
Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"  Is  it  a  very  interesting  book  you  have  there,  Gertrude,  my 
dear]" 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  would  exactly  call  it  interesting," 
replied  Gertrude.  "  It  is  a  volume  of  sermons,  which  has  just 
been  lent  to  me.  There  is  one  not  unlike  part  of  Mr.  Grantley's 
last  Sunday  ;  I  think  you  will  remember  it."  And  she  read  out 
a  few  lines. 

"  That  is  not  all,  my  dear,  is  it  V  said  Mrs.  Courtenay,  her 
ear  caught  by  the  beauty  of  the  language  and  the  melody  of  Ger- 
trude's voice. 

"  Not  all,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  thought  perhaps  you 
would  not  like  me  to  go  on." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  tired,  my  love,  I  dare  say  ;  but  I  don't  very 
often  have  any  one  to  read  to  me." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  am  not  tired,"  exclaimed  Gertrude.  "  I  used 
to  read  to  my  aunt  for  more  than  an  hour  at  a  time.  Should  you 
mind  my  finishing  the  sermon  aloud  '?" 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  I  should  be  glad.  It  is  not  very  long,  I 
suppose  ?" 

Gertrude  relieved  her  mother's  apprehensions  as  to  the  length, 
and  began  to  read.  As  she  proceeded,  Mrs.  Courtenay  laid  down 
the  papers  which  at  first  she  had  rustled  incessantly,  took  off  her 
spectacles,  and  drawing  her  chair  close  to  Gertrude's,  listened  as 
she  would  have  done  to  the  tone  of  a  familiar  air  sung  in  a  voice 
she  loved. 

"  That  sounds  better  than  when  Mr.  Grantley  preaches,"  she 
said,  as  Gertrude  paused,  fearing  that  her  mother's  attention 
might  be  wearied.  "  Your  voice  is  so  clear  I  can  tell  every  word, 
though  I  am  a  little  deaf.  But  why  don't  you  go  on  ;  isn't  there 
some  more  ?" 

Gertrude  accordingly  continued  ;  and  as  she  closed  the  volume 
ventured  to  say,  "  If  you  would  like  it,  dear  mamma,  I  car  read 
anothar  day  to  you  any  thing  that  you  like." 


GERTRUDE.  197 


"  Well,  that  would  be  very  nice,"  replied  Mrs.  Courtenay, 
''  but  are  you  going  away  now  !"' 

"  Not  if  you  like  me  to  stay,"  said  Gertrude,  "  I  was  wishing 
to  write  something,  and  I  can  do  it  as  well  here  as  down  stairs : 
but  I  must  go  and  fetch  mv  desk  first." 

The  desk  was  in  the  drawing-room  ;  and  Gertrude  no  sooner 
appeared,  than  she  was  assailed  by  half  laughing  half  serious 
reproaches  for  running  away. 

"There,"  said  Charlotte,  drawing  a  chair  to  the  talie,  and 
almost  forcing  her  sister  into  it,  "you  must  stay,  Gertrude. 
Here  is  the  book  open  at  the  very  place  ;  now  begin.  You  have 
no  excuse,  fi5r  the  gardening  was  all  done  yesterday ;  and  Jane 
and  I  have  a  good  fit  on  us,  and  are  going  to  work,  so  you  are 
bound  to  encourage  us.  That  is  so  like  you  charitable  people," 
she  continued,  observing  that  her  sister  looked  rather  puzzled ; 
'•  you  never  will  believe  that  any  one  out  of  your  own  set  can  do 
a  virtuous  action." 

"  Some  day  or  other,  Charlotte,"  said  Gertrude,  smiling, 
'*  you  shall  tell  me  what  you  meant  byr  a  set :  but  now  I  must  go 
back  to  mamma,  for  I  promised  1  would." 

"  .Mamma !"  exclaimed  Jane  ;  "  what  business  can  you  have 
with  her  1  You  don't  mean  that  she  has  admitted  you  into  her 
cabinet  of  antiquities." 

"  Admitted,  and  begged  me  to  remain,"  said  Gertrude. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  there?  Why  are  you  going 
back  again  ?"  And  at  the  idea  of  Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay's  spending  a  morning  together  even  Edith's  attention  was 
roused. 

"  1  will  tell  you,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  mamma  is  going  to  pub- 
lish a  treatise  on  the  art  of  knitting,  and  Gertrude  intends  to  edit 
it."    Three  of  the  party  laughed,  but  not  Gertrude. 

"  .Mamma  was  busy  when  I  went  in,"  she  said  ;  "but  I  did 
not  observe  particularly  what  she  was  doing.  And  when  she 
6aw  I  had  a  book,  she  wished  me  to  read  out." 

"Head  out  what!"'  inquired  Charlotte;  "Smith's  Wealth 
of  Nations,  or  Jack  the  Giant  Killer?" 

Gertrude  held  up  the  book  which  Bhe  had  in  her  hand,  and 
showed  the  title.  Charlotte  looked  slightly  abashed;  and  Edith 
observed  that  her  mamma  had  been  belter  employed  than  she 
had  been. 

"  Thanks  to  Gertrude,"  said  Jane.  "What  an  immense  pity 
it  is  that  you  are  not  a  man,  Gertrude." 

"  Why  !    what  do  you  mean  !'' 

"  Only  that  you  would  have  made  such  a  fir-t-ra!-  nary. 

1  don't  think  any  one  could  have  resisted  von.-' 

Gertrude  looked  grave,  and  closed  the  conversation.     "  W  hen 

I  have  finished  what  I  have  to  do   in   mamma's   room,"   she  .  u < I 


J  98  GERTRUDE. 


"  I  dare  say  there  will  be  time  for  a  little  reading  before  luncheon, 
and  I  will  come  back  again." 

Edith  sighed  as  her  sister  left  the  room,  and  the  sigh  was 
echoed  by  Charlotte  ;  and  then,  struck  with  a  sense  of  absurdity, 
both  involuntarily  laughed. 

"  Now  for  confession,"  said  Jane  ;  "  what  was  your  sigh  for, 
Edith  V 

"  Charlotte  is  the  oldest,"  said  Edith  ;  "  you  should  apply  to 
her  first." 

"  Mine  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte  :  "  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell. 
U  had  something  to  do  with  Gertrude,  but  I  am  not  clear  what." 

"  And  yours,  Edith  ]  Such  a  lucid  explanation  is  quite  an 
example." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  what  mine  was  for,"  said  Edith  ;  "  but  I  am 
not  so  certain  that  I  shall  be  disposed  to  own." 

"  Envy,"  exclaimed  Jane  ;  "  that  must  have  been  it.  You  are 
envious  because  Gertrude  has  such  a  peculiar  knack  of  making 
herself  agreeable." 

"  The  strange  thing  to  me,"  said  Charlotte,  "  is,  that  Gertrude 
finds  time  for  Edith's  duties  and  her  own  too.  She  takes  im- 
mense care  of  her  district,  and  works,  and  has  her  days  at  the 
school,  but  she  manages  her  time  so  well.  I  do  wish  you  would 
take  a  lesson  from  her,  Edith." 

At  another  time  Edith  might  have  been  angry,  but  Gertrude's 
humility  was  infectious.  "  I  mean  to  do  it,"  she  said  :  "  I  should 
be  more  glad  than  I  can  tell  to  be  like  Gertrude.  It  would  be  so 
pleasant  to  feel  that  one's  presence  was  like  oil  upon  the  troubled 
waves,  and  that  is  always  the  effect  being  with  her  has  upon  me." 

"A  very  old  simile,  very  well  applied,"  said  Charlotte.  "I 
must  own  that  sometimes  I  am  guilty  of  the  weakness  of  believ- 
ing, that  if  Gertrude  were  to  set  up  a  convent,  and  turn  lady 
abbess,  I  should  choose  to  be  one  of  her  nuns." 

"  It  would  be  a  peaceful  household,  if  it  had  no  other  recom- 
mendation," said  Jane  ;  "  and  that  is  a  rare  thing  to  find  in  these 
days." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  observed  Edith  ;  "  there  are  the  Grant- 
leys,  and  their  seven  children." 

"  Peace  and  seven  children  !  did  they  ever  dwell  together  for 
five  minutes  ?" 

"They  would  if  Gertrude  was  at  the  head  of  affairs,"  said 
Charlotte. 

"  Mrs.  Grantley  is  too  indulgent ;  she  is  as  bad  as  Laura  ;  and 
there  is  a  peaceful  household,"  exclaimed  Jane,  sarcastically  ; 
"Charlie! — to  live  in  the  same  village  with  him  shakes  one's 
nerves  out  of  all  order,  and  to  be  in  the  same  house  would  shat- 
ter them  to  pieces." 

"  Allingham  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  and  it  haa 


GERTRUDE.  199 


been  ever  since  Edward  married.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  never 
go  there  without  feeling  as  if  I  were  treading  upon  a  volcano 
that  was  going  to  burst." 

"  I  can  tell  you  why,"  said  Jane:  "  it  is  because  of  that  care- 
worn, abstracted  look  of  Edward's." 

"And  Laura's,  too,"  said  Edith;  "I  never  saw  any  one  so 
changed  as  she  is  lately.  One  would  think  sometimes  she  V/Ht 
brooding  over  a  great  crime." 

"  To  be  committed  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  laughing  ;  "  Laura 
is  very  much  indebted  to  you,  Edith,  for  your  good  opinion." 

"  1S0,"  said  Edith  ;  "  whatever  sins  Laura  may  commit,  they 
will  never  be -premeditated.  But  let  the  cause  be  what  it  will,  I 
am  sure  she  is  very  unhappy." 

"  And  Miss  Forester  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,"  said  Charlotte ; 
"  that  I  have  discovered.  Just  notice  the  next  time  you  have  an 
opportunity,  how  Laura  changes  color  when  her  dear  friend 
comes  into  the  room." 

"  Friend  !"  repeated  Jane,  with  emphasis  ;  "  I  could  as  soon 
have  petted  a  toad." 

"  A  viper,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  toads  have  no  sting." 

"  A  gift  peculiarly  reserved  for  human  beings,  some  people 
think,"  said  a  gay,  gentle  voice  ;  and  Gertrude's  arm  was  thrown 
round  her  sister's  waist,  while  she  looked  laughingly  in  her  face. 

"  Now,  Gertrude,  that  was  a  speech  not  intended  for  your 
ears,  so  you  have  no  right  to  find  fault.  Besides,  I  protest  against 
any  one  taking  Miss  Forester's  part ;  and  moreover,  you  look 
satirical  ;  and  I  thought  satire  was  your  peculiar  horror." 

"  Always  excepting  on  certain  occasions,"  continued  Ger- 
trude, in  the  same  light  tone,  "  self-defence,  et  cetera." 

"  Then  this  is  not  one — no  one  is  accusing  you  of  being  a 
viper." 

"  Only  one  of  my  acquaintances — I  cannot  say  friend." 

"  No,  that,  would  be  too  absurd.  You  Miss  Forester's  friend'. 
The  poles  are  not  more  widely  separated. 

"  Yet  friend,  too,"  said  Gertrude,  "  inasmuch  as  she  is  not  my 
enemy-  ' 

"  1  would  not  answer  for  her  not  being  the  enemy  of  every 
member  of  the  family,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  Edith's  1  arn  certain 
she  is." 

"  .So  much  the  more  reason  for  taking  her  part,"  replied  Ger- 
trude, rather  more  seriously  than  before.  Charlotte  looked  at 
her  sister,  in  the  belief  that  she  was  in  jesl  ;  but  Gertrude's  smile 
had  nearly  vanished,  and  Charlotte  saw  directly  what  u.is  n 
her  mind. 

"  No  lecturing !  Gertrude,"  she  exclaimed;  "I  will  not  heai 
•t,  ever,  from  you." 


200  GERTRUDE. 

"  If  one  could  only  conceal  one's  thoughts  better,"  said  Ger- 
trude :  "  but  when  grave  notions  are  in  the  mind,  they  will  show 
themselves  in  the  face, — in  mine  at  least ;  so  please  not  to  quar- 
rel with  me,  Charlotte.  Lecturing,  as  you  call  it,  is  my  misfor- 
tune, not  my  fault." 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  hear.  I  know  you  won't  be  happy  till 
you  have  delivered  your  testimony  " 

"  It  would  be  a  very  long  testimony,  if  I  were  to  begin,"  said 
Gertrude,  gayly  ;  "  and  I  don't  at  all  think  you  are  in  the  humor 
to  hear  it." 

''  Never  more  so  ;  I  made  some  resolutions  upon  humility  only 
this  morning.  Or,  stay,  I  can  give  a  lecture  myself  just  as  well. 
Listen  :  I  will  divide  my  discourse  into  three  parts  :  first,  the 
characteristics  of  Miss  Forester;  secondly,  those  of  the  venom- 
ous reptiles  called  vipers  ;  thirdly,  the  utter  dissimilarity  between 
the  two;  to  be  concluded  with  some  practical  reflections  upon 
the  pernicious  habit  of  evil-speaking.  And,  first,  for  the  charac- 
teristics of  Miss  Forester " 

"  Which  shall  be  reserved  till  another  day,  to  please  me," 
said  Gertrude,  playfully  ;  "  because,  if  we  go  on  talking  now, 
there  will  be  no  time  for  reading." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  going  to  mamma,"  said  Edith. 

"  Yes,  and  I  did  go,  but  I  happened  to  mention  Susan  Philips's 
name,  and  then  she  remembered  having  promised  to  mix  some 
medicine  for  the  child,  and  went  to  do  it ;  and  I  thought  I  would 
come  down  to  you  in  the  mean  time." 

"We  shall  be  a  reformed  household  in  time,"  said  Char- 
lotte. "  If  mamma  takes  to  mixing  medicines,  and  Jane  and  I 
to  poor  work,  there  will  be  no  calculating  upon  any  thing.  We 
may  all  end  our  days  as  Sisters  of  Charity." 

Gertrude  smiled,  and  taking  up  her  book,  she  began  to  read, 
and  so  the  morning  passed  :  and  to  many  it  might  have  seemed 
unprofitable,  for  Gertrude  had  nothing  to  show  as  the  fruit  of 
two  hours'  labor ;  but  one  glance  at  the  temper  of  mind  culti- 
vated in  her  sisters  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  occupations, 
might  have  induced  a  different  opinion.  Edith  especially  felt 
the  difference  caused  by  Gertrude's  attention  and  tact,  and  stop- 
ping her  as  they  were  going  in  to  luncheon,  said, — 

li  I  must  say  one  word  1o  you  ;  really  I  won't  ke3p  you  five 
minutes,  but  1  want  you  to  tell  me  something.  Why  do  you 
think  Jane  and  Charlotte  find  so  much  fault  with  me  V 

"  What  a  question  !  dearest,"  exclaimed  Gertrude.  '  How 
is  it  possible  that  I  should  tell  V 

"  But  you  must  have  some  notion.  Do  I  ever  do  disugroe'^ 
b!e  things  ?" 

"  We  all  do  occasionally,"  said  Gertrude. 


GERTRUDE  202 


"  But  I  in  particular.  They  are  always  complaining  of  me. 
I  know  I  am  untidy,  and  not  at  all  punctual  ;  but  have  you  evet 
remarked  any  thing  else?"     Gertrude  hesitated  to  reply. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  tell  me,"  continued 
Edith  ;  "  because  I  often  wonder  why  you  suit  them  much  bettei 
than  I  do,  when  your  notions  are  quite  as  different;  and  I  am 
sure  the  fault  must  be  in  myself." 

"  There  are  some  little  trifles,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  they  are 
merely  trifles.  One  thing  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  of:  the 
other  day,  do  you  remember,  when  you  were  making  breakfast, 
you  had  finished  before  any  one,  and  you  went  away,  and  left  us 
all  to  pour  out  the  tea  for  ourselves  1" 

"  But  what  was  the  use  of  stopping  1  I  had  a  great  many 
things  to  do." 

"  Merely  that  it  was  uncomfortable  :  it  disarranged  us,  and 
broke  up  the  party,  and  made  us  feel  as  if  we  ought  all  to  be  in  a 
bustle  too.  And  for  the  time  being,  you  know,  you  were  the 
lady  of  the  house." 

Edith  thought  for  a  minute,  and  then  said,  "Go  on  quickly,  or 
they  will  wonder  what  has  become  of  us." 

Gertrude  smiled.  "I  really  can't  remember  in  such  a  hurry  ; 
especially  when  they  are  not  such  very  great  offences.  I  think, 
perhaps,  sometimes  you  irritate  Charlotte  by  your  manner  of 
saying  you  can't  do  as  she  wishes,  or  that  you  do  not  like  things. 
You  put  the  objection  first,  and  the  desire  to  oblige  afterwards, 
and  then  it  docs  not  tell." 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Edith. 

"  It  is  only  the  turn  of  a  sentence,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  as  I 
heard  some  one  call  it  once,  putting  the  negative  before  the  af- 
firmative in  life." 

"  Indeed,  that  is  such  a  mere  nothing,"  said  Edith. 

"  So  it  is;  but  the  impression  of  the  two  sentences  will  be  as 
different  as  possible;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  find  it  so  if  you 
observe." 

"The  objections  a',  ways  come  to  my  mind  first,"  said   Edith. 

"  They  do  to  most  persons;  but  if  thej  are  spoken  they  give 
the  idea  that  you  are  not  pleased,  or  that  you  do  not  wish  to 
oblige,  which  is  the  last  thing  any  one  has  a  right  to  say  of  you." 

'•And  is  that  all  1"  said  Edith;  "  1  should  like  to  know  i 
thing." 

■■  Chose  are  all  the  great  faults  1  can  remember  to-day,"  said 
Gertrude,  laughingly,  "  except,  perhaps,  such  trifles  as  putt 

the  chair  you  are  sitting  < i  an  awkward  place,  so  as  t ake 

the  room  look  uncomfortable;  and  running  away  in  the  middle  ol 
>  conversation,  in  which  we  are  all  u  ted,  as  if  you  did  not 

tore  about  it." 

"  If  I  were  not  so  bu  I   Edith. 


£02  GERTRUDE. 


"  But  it  is  easy  to  make  a  little  excuse,  and  then  no  one  would 
mind.  I  very  often  feel  a  blank  when  you  are  gone,  as  if  the 
subjects  we  liked  were  of  no  consequence  to  you." 

"  No,  indeed,  Gertrude  ;  whatever  pleases  you  I  am  sure 
pleases  me." 

"  I  know  it  does  in  reality,  but  at  the  moment  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it." 

"  One  thing  I  must  say,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  that  if  we  are  to  be 
so  very  particular,  you  do  away  with  all  the  liberty  of  home." 

"  Only  in  little  trifles  and  courtesies,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "and- 
I  don't  see  how  It  can  be  otherwise,  when  a  number  of  grown-up 
people  have  to  live  together.  If  they  are  not  under  some  re- 
straint they  must  quarrel.  And  certainly  one's  first  object — 
earthly  object,  I  mean,  should  be  to  make  one's  home  comforta- 
ble." 

"  I  don't  think  Jane  and  Charlotte  care  much  about  it,"  said 
Edith. 

"  Perhaps  they  have  not  quite  the  same  principles  to  act  from 
as  you  have  ;  but  when  all  are  on  an  equality,  some  one  must 
yield,  and  I  think  those  who  are  most  anxious  to  do  right  should 
set  the  example." 

Edith  sighed,  and  exclaimed  sadly,  "  I  am  always  doing 
wrong,  I  know.  I  make  all  sorts  of  good  resolutions  in  general, 
but  I  never  know  how  to  put  them  in  practice." 

"  You  will  if  you  study  character  more,"  said  Gertrude  ; 
"  and  consider  in  the  morning  what  is  likely  to  happen  in  the 
day,  and  what  you  will  be  called  on  to  do.  It  is  the  being  busy 
and  abstracted  which  makes  it  so  difficult,  and  the  business,  I 
know,  you  cannot  well  avoid  ;  though  it  might  worry  my  sisters 
less  if  you  could  go  out  when  they  do,  and  stay  at  home  oftener 
in  the  morning,  to  practise  and  read  with  them." 

"  Such  a  waste  of  time  all  that  seems,"  exclaimed  Edith  ; 
"and  accomplishments  lead  to  so  much  vanity." 

"  But  not  if  they  are  cultivated  from  higher  motives,"  said  Ger- 
trude. "  There  is  a  difference  between  wishing  to  please,  and 
wishing  to  give  pleasure." 

Edith  seemed  inclined  to  agree,  and  to  continue  the  conversa- 
tion further  ;  but  Gertrude  was  afraid  of  annoying  her  mother, 
and  hastened  her  into  the  dining-room,  where  Mrs.  Courtenay 
was  already  beginning  to  be  uncomfortable  at  her  non-appear- 
ance. 

There  were  many  rumors  afloat  at  Allingham  on  that  day 
as  to  the  cause  of  Mr.  Courtenay's  sudden  journey  ;  and  the 
spirit  of  curiosity  was  not  quelled  by  the  sight  of  Laura's  pale, 
tearful  countenance,  as  she  stepped  into  her  pony  carriage,  with 
the  intention  of  driving  to  the  Prnry.  So  visible,  indeed,  weie 
he  effects  of  her  sorrow,  that  the  old  butler,  who  met  her  as  she 


GERTRUD*  20-? 


ahghled,  was  tempted  to  inquire  whether  any  thing  was  the  mat- 
ter  with  Master  Charlie  ;  but  hastily  turning  from  him,  she  beg- 
ged to  see  Gertrude  alone,  and  walked  into  the  library  to  wait 
for  her.  The  few  minutes  of  delay  were  an  age  ;  and  Laura  stood 
before  the  pictures,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  drew  pat- 
terns on  the  carpet  with  her  parasol,  while  her  courage  sank  to 
its  lowest  ebb,  and  she  almost  resolved  to  go  back  as  speedily  as 
she  had  come.  There  were  voices  in  the  lobby,  and  a  message 
ivas  given  to  a  servant,  and  then  a  light  footstep  was  heard  on 
♦.he  stairs  ;  and  Laura,  conquering  a.  strong  impulse  to  run  away, 
'moved  to  the  door,  and  met — not  Gertrude,  but  Edith.  Her  dis- 
appointment was  evident,  and  Edith,  too,  did  not  appear  pleased 
at  the  meeting.  She  was  dressed  for  walking,  and  to  be  stopped 
was  very  provoking. 

"You  here,  Laura!"  she  began;  "  how  strange  !  ISo  one 
said  any  thing:  about  it ;  but  you  are  looking  so  ill, — what  is  the 
matter!  where  is  Edward  V 

••Nothing  is  the  matter,"  replied  Laura,  quickly  ;  "nothing, 
that  is,  in  which  you  can  help  me.     1  wanted  to  see  Gertrude." 

"  She  is  gone  out,  but  I  expect  her  home  every  minute.  There 
is  something  the  matter,  Laura  ;  I  am  sure  there  is." 

••  .My  head  aches,"  said  Laura ;  "  I  think  I  have  been  walking 
too  much,  lately." 

"  Bat  that  is  not  all,"  exclaimed  Edith,  beginning  to  be  alarm- 
ed.    "  Won't  you  tell  me  where  Edward  is  !" 

"  In  London,  1  believe,  or  at  least  on  las  way  there.  He  left 
me  this  morning." 

"  In  London  !"  repeated  Edith,—''  but  what  took  him  there  ] 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Laura,  coldly  :  "  He  did  not  tell  me." 

"And  when  will  he  return  V 

"  I  don't  know — possibly  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  Laura  !  this  is  cruel,"  exclaimed  Edith.  "  I  am  sure 
something  is  the  matter. " 

••  .\ut  particularly  with  Edward,"  said  Laura;  "  but  I  suppose 
all  persons  have  reasons  for  looking  grave  at  times." 

'•  It  is  not  merely  being  grave— yuu  are  so  pale.     Cant  I 
yon  any  thing  ?    a  glass  of  wine,  or  some  water  only  ! 
Edith's  manner  softened  at  the  sight   of  her    sister'8  uneasiness, 
till  it  became  almost  affectionate. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Laura,  with  a  faint  Bmile  ^  "  but  you 
can't  do  me  any  good.     If  I  could  only  Bee  Gertrude.' 

"  She  must  be  bacfe  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  Edith.  "  Are  you 
«ure  1  can't  help  you  *" 

"  Quite  sure  " 

Laura's  tone  was  decided,  and  Edith  fell  annoyed, 

"  1  don't  wish  to  intrude-  L'pon  you,  Laura,"  she  Baid,  'Jet  u 
ia  ivatural  to  be  anxious  aboul  one'a  own  familj  concerns. 


204  GERTRUDE. 


"  Yes,  very  natural,"  replied  Laura.  "  How  ong  has  Ger- 
trude been  out  V 

"  More  than  half  an  hour  ;  and  she  only  went  to  speak  to  a 
person  about  some  work.  She  must  be  here  directly.  Are  you 
sure  that  Edward  is  well  ?" 

"  So  far  as  I  can  be  sure  from  having  seen  him  in  perfect 
health  this  morning.  Indeed,  Edith,  you  need  not  worry  your- 
self; my  concerns  are  my  own." 

"  If  I  could  be  quite  certain  about  Edward,"  said  Edith,  half 
srjeaking  to  herself;  and  then  she  added,  in  a  louder  tone, — "  He 
has  looked  so  harassed  of  late.  You  say  he  has  gone  to  London 
upon  business  ?" 

"  Yes,  private  business.  Why  should  you  cross-question  me 
in  this  way,  Edith  I" 

"  I  did  hot  mean  to  do  it,"  said  Edith,  "  but  you  make  me  so 
anxious  by  your  manner.  I  only  wish  to  be  treated  as  a  common 
friend — as  Miss  Forester." 

Unknowingly,  Edith  had  touched  upon  a  most  vulnerable 
point.  Laura's  cold  dignity  gave  way  under  a  torrent  of  bitter 
recollections,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  I  have  never  had  a  friend. 
Those  whom  I  looked  to  for  affection  neglected  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  Miss  Forester  V  said  Edith.  "  You  must 
indeed  have  been  blind  if  you  expected  any  thing  lasting  from 
her." 

"  No,  no,  not  Miss  Forester,"  said  Laura,  striving  to  hide  her 
tears;  and  as  the  wretchedness  of  her  feelings  became  more 
overpowering,  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  dejection,  "If 
Gertrude  had  been  here  I  should  never  have  been  left  to  her." 

Edith  had  no  words  to  reply.  That  one  sentence  was  the  key 
to  many  a  misgiving  which  had  lately  arisen  in  her  thoughts  as 
to  the  conduct  she  had  pursued  ;  and  as  a  vivid  consciousness 
of  unnumbered  neglects  flashed  like  lightning  upon  her  mind, 
Laura  had  no  cause  to  dread  the  confession  of  her  own  follies  : 
the  heart  just  awakened  to  the  sense  of  a  hidden  fault  would 
have  been'  the  last  to  condemn  another.  For  several  minutes 
both  remained  in  silence,  Laura  leaning  her  head  upon  her  hand, 
and  Edith  standing  by  her,  longing,  yet  not  venturing,  to  offer 
her  sympathy. 

Perhaps  the  delicacy  of  Gertrude's  tact  would  have  suggested, 
that,  under  such  circumstances,  solitude  would  be  the  most  ef- 
fectual relief;  but  Edith  had  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  ob- 
serve the  effects  of  her  words  and  actions,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
she  had  no  tact :  and  would  probably  even  then  have  forced  upon 
Laura  the  avowal  of  her  own  oelf-reproach,  if  Gertrude's  entrance 
had  not  prevented  it.  Edith  no  sooner  saw  her  than  she  ex- 
claimed, "  How  long  you  have  been,  Gertrude  ! — Laura  has  been 
waiting  for  you  till  she  is  tired." 


GERTRUDE.  205 


"  Not  quite  that,  I  hope,"  said  Gertrude,  glancing  at  her  sis- 
ter-in-law ;  and  untying  her  bonnet,  she  placed  it  on  the  table, 
and  then  made  Edith  assist  in  arranging  her  dress.  "  I  really 
could  not  help  myself,  though  I  was  uncomfortable  all  the  time, 
knowing  you  would  wonder  where  I  was.  Anne  Downer  would 
tell  me  a  long  story  about  one  of  her  children  being  in  disgrace 
at  school.  I  said  that  I  could  not  understand  it,  because  this  was 
not  my  week  ;  but  she  would  persist,  and  at  last  I  told  her  she 
should  come  and  speak  to  you,  and  she  is  waiting  for  you  in  the 
hall.     Won't  you  see  her  ?" 

Edith  left  the  room,  and  Gertrude,  going  up  to  Laura,  who 
had  not  till  then  summoned  resolution  to  look  up,  placed  her 
hand  gently  upon  hers,  and  said,  as  she  kissed  her  forehead,  "  I 
should  have  been  more  vexed  if  I  had  thought  I  had  vexed 
you." 

Laura  again  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  tears  stream- 
ed through  her  slender  fingers.  For  some  minutes  Gertrude  did 
not  attempt  to  stop  the  course  of  her  grief,  but  at  length  she  said, 
"  ]t  would  be  such  a  pleasure  to  be  a  comfort  to  you." 

"  To  me  !"  exclaimed  Laura,  forcing  herself  to  be  calm.  "  Ger- 
trude, you  do  not  know  me." 

"  I  know  myself,  though,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  I  know  that  I 
iannot  bear  to  see  you  unhappy." 

"  But  I  deserve  it,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  I  have  done  wrong- 
worse  than  you  would  have  imagined.  Do  not  despise  me,  Ger- 
trude." 

Gertrude  shrank  from  the  word.  "It  would  be  sad  indeed,' 
she  said,  "for  me  to  dare  to  despise  any  one, — most  of  all  my 
sister." 

'•And  will  you  indeed  think  of  me  kindly  1"  said  Laura 
'•  Will  you  listen  to  me  '  1  have  so  much  to  tell,  and  I  am  so  misera- 
ble— so  very  miserable." 

"  Say  to  me  any  thing,  every  thing,  dearest,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
"  let  it  be  much  or  little  as  you  please  ;  only  give  me  the  oppor- 
tunity of  helping  you." 

Laura  heaved  a  deep  sigh :"  That  cannot  be,"  she  said  ;  "  i 
you  cannot  undo  the  past." 

"  lint  perhaps  1  ran  be  of  use  to  you  for  the  future." 

"  1   have:  no  hope,"  replied   Laura,  mournfully.     "  1  do  nol  CO 

to  you  for  that  ;  hut  Edward  is  gone,  an. I  I  am  alone  ;  and  I  am 

to  wretched  that  1  cannot  hoar  mvsi'lf." 

"  Edward  gone  !"  exclaimed  Gertrude,—"  so  nly  !      i  °u 

cannot  be  in  earnest." 

"  He  is  in  London  :  he  was  called  there  on  businee  i :  bul  he  u 
to  be  hark  again  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  And  thou  you  will  he  happier,"  said  <■  itly. 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed   Luna  ,  "  in  can   never  mak« 


206  GERTRUDE. 


me  happier.     Not  that  I  do  not  love  him,"  she  added  eagerly— 

"  love  him — none — none — on  earth  can  tell  how  well  ;  but ■ 

Gertrude,  I  cannot  say  it  ;  you  must  despise  me." 

"  You  will  not  repeat  that  again,  I  am  sure,"  said  Gertrude  • 
"it  pains  me  very  much." 

"  But  I  have  deceived,"  exclaimed  Laura, — "  deceived  Ed- 
ward, when  he  loved  and  trusted  me.  Yet  indeed,  Gertrude,  I 
did  not  know  what  I  was  doing  when  I  began.  Miss  Forester 
ur^ed  me  to  do  it.  She  told  me  that  things  were  necessary,  and 
1  bought  them  ;  and  wherever  she  went  she  was  always  admir- 
ing and  wishing  for  what  she  saw,  and  I  could  not  help  giving 
it  to  her  ;  and  there  were  my  own  relations,  who  thought  me 
rich,  and  looked  to  me  for  so  much.  I  was  obliged  to  spend 
money  upon  them  too,  and  at  last  it  all  came  to  such  a  sum  that 
I  was  desperate,  and  was  going  at  once  to  tell  Edward,  but  she 
— Miss  Forester  I  mean — persuaded  me  not  ;  she  said  he  would 
be  angry,  and  I  knew  that  was  true,  for  he  was  in  a  dreadful 
state  whenever  he  was  asked  for  money  ;  and  then  she  offered 
to  lend  me  some,  and  from  that  time  she  used  to  tease  me  into 
doing  whatever  she  wished,  and  so  I  could  not  go  on  better 
She  was  always  alluding  to  what  she  had  done  for  me,  and  if 
she  saw  I  was  inclined  to  do  what  she  did  not  like,  she  used  to 
hint  that  she  should  be  obliged  to  tell  every  thing  to  Edward. 
I  have  many  times  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  confess  it  all, 
and  rid  myself  of  her,  but  when  it  came  to  the  point  my  courage 
always  failed.  If  I  could  only  have  avoided  taking  her  to  London, 
it  would  have  been  so  much  better  :  but  I  did  not  dare  ;  and  I 
was  forced  sometimes  to  make  Edward  angry,  by  persuading  him 
to  allow  it,  all  the  time  hating  it  myself.  And  now,  Gertrude, 
after  all  this  she  has  told  her  father,  and  I  have  had  such  a  visit 
from  her  this  morning.  General  Forester  has  said  such  strange 
things  of  Edward.  He  thinks,  I  believe,  that  he  is  going  to  be 
ruined,  and  that  the  only  hope  is  for  him  to  give  some  pledge 
which  way  he  will  vote,  and  then  he  will  have  a  government 
office  ;  and  if  I  were  to  try  and  persuade  him,  General  Forester 
would  not  mind  his  daughter's  helping  me  even  more  than  she 
has  done  ;  but  if  I  don't,  every  thing  must  be  told  to  Edward  at 
once.  I  thought  at  the  time  any  thing  would  be  better  than 
leading  such  a  miserable  life  as  I  have  done  lately  ;  but  after- 
wards— Gertrude,  it  would  kill  me  if  Edward  were  to  love  me 
less.  Even  when  he  looks  grave  I  am  wretched — and  how  could 
I  endure  it,  if  he  were  to  change  entirely  ?" 

Gertrude's  heart  sank  within  her.  Laura's  statement,  rapid 
ind  even  incoherent  though  it  was,  opened  before  her  a  vague 
but  fearful  prospect  of  trial  for  Edward  and  every  one  con- 
nected with  him  ;  yet  even  then  her  ready  sympathy  did  not 
forsuke  her.     She  saw  that  Laura  dwelt  far  less  upon  Edward's 


GERTRUDE.  20* 


danger  than  upon  her  own  fault ;  and  setting  aside  her  impatient 
desire  to  hear  all  that  Miss  Forester  had  said,  she  answered — 
"  Are  you  not  distrusting  Edward,  by  imagining  that  he  could 
change  1     Could  you  do  so  in  his  place  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Laura,  sadly  ;  "  but  he  would  never 
have  acted  as  I  have  done.  Yes,  he  must  change  when  he  hears 
il.     He  can  never  think  of  me  as  he  did." 

"  He  may  not  think  you  faultless,  but  he  will  surely  forgive 
one  whom  he  has  promised  before  God  to  love  and  comfort." 

"  And  honor,"  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  you  forget  that,  Gertrude. 
He  can  never  honor  me." 

"  Xot  when  he  sees  that  you  prefer  the  pain  of  owning  all  that 
has  passed  to  continuing  in  what  is  wrong  ?  Dearest  Laura,  in- 
deed y.ou  do  him  a  grievous  injustice." 

"  If  I  could  only  think  so,"  said  Laura.  "  Perhaps  I  might 
be  able  to  tell  all  if  he  were  here  now ;  but  my  courage  will 
never  last  till  he  returns."  And  after  a  few  minutes'  pause,  she 
continued  :  "  It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk,  Gertrude,  but  you  cannot 
know  a  wife's  feelings.  It  would  be  such  bitter  degradation  to 
confess." 

"  But  still  more  bitter  to  deceive,"  said  Gertrude.  And  then, 
fearing  lest  the  words  should  have  been  too  strong,  she  added, 
"  I  know  that  I  cannot  tell  all  a  wife's  feelings,  and  I  know,  too, 
that  it  is  easy  to  give  advice  which  perhaps  the  person  who  gives 
it  would  be  the  last  to  follow ;  but,  dearest,  have  you  not  said 
yourself  that  any  suffering  would  be  endurable  rather  than  that 
you  have  borne  lately  ?" 

"It  would  only  be  delay,"  said  Laura;  "and  if  Edward  were 
to  follow  General  Forester's  advice  he  would  nut  be  worried  about 
money,  and  then  he  would  not  care  half  so  much  when  he  heard 
what  I  had  done." 

"  And  if  he  does  not  follow  it  ?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  But  he  must — there  is  no  help  for  him.  He  will  not  be  re- 
elected if  he  does  not ;  and  I  know  lie  would  make  any  sacrifice 
rather  than  fail  in  that." 

'•  Not  the  sacrifice  of  honor,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "and  you  would 
be  the  last  person  to  wish  him  to  do  it." 

"Honor!"  exclaimed  Laura,  with  a  bewildered  look  :  "  il  is 
no  question  of  honor;  it  is  merely  a  political  affair,  which  ladies 
have  nothing  to  do  with." 

"So  it  is  said,"  replied  Gertrude, "  and  so  I  agree  in 
eases; — but  has  General  Forester  spoken  to  Edward  himself  •" 

"  Yes,  1  believe  so,  a  good  many  times; — but  he  says  Edward 
will  not  listen  to  him;  and  I  Buppose  he  thinks  he  will  t"  me. 
Gertrude,  why  do  you  look  so  pale  and  shocked  !" 

"And  Edward  is  in  London,  you  saj  '"  continued  Gertrude. 

"Yes,  he  wenl   away  this  morning  quite  unexpected))  ;  lie 


208  GERTRUDE. 


did  not  even  stop  to  say  good-by.  Stay,  here  is  a  little  note  hfl 
wrote  just  before  he  started." 

Gertrude  took  the  note,  and  read  it  hastily. 

"  He  was  so  grave  at  breakfast,"  continued  Laura — "  more  so 
than  usual  ;  and  Mr.  Rivers  was  witli  him  till  twelve  o'clock  last 
night,  and  1  am  nearly  sure  Edward  went  to  him  again  this  morn- 
ing. Gertrude,  you  would  not  have  me  make  him  more  anxious 
than  he  is." 

"  Dear,  dear  Laura,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  earnestly,  "  do  not 
ask  me  for  advice.  I  cannot  give  you  what  you  will  like — and 
it  is  hard  to  feel  that  I  am  disappointing  you." 

"  Not  disappointing,"  replied  Laura.  "  I  thought  what  you 
would  say  ;  but  it  cannot  be.  It  has  gone  with  me  through  my 
whole  life — that  power  to  see  the  right.  But,  Gertrude,  I  am  not 
like  you — I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  do  it.  The  beginning 
of  my  life  was  weak  and  sinful,  and  the  end  must  be  so  too." 
And  she  burst  into  tears. 

The  faint  color  on  Gertrude's  cheek  went  and  came  as  her 
sister  spoke  ;  and  as  she  watched  the  expression  of  despairing 
suffering  which  rested  upon  her  young  fair  features,  a  pang  of 
bitterness  shot  through  her  heart  at  the  thought  of  all  that  she 
might  yet  be  destined  to  endure.  "  Laura,"  she  said — and  she 
knelt  by  her  side,  and  looked  fondly  in  her  face — "  when  you 
promise  your  child  that  you  will  give  him  all  that  he  may  need, 
could  you  bear  him  to  doubt  your  word  ?" 

"  He  is  too  young  to  do  it,"  said  Laura,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  But  if  he  were  older,"  said  Gertrude,  "  would  it  not  vex  and 
pain  you  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  Laura  ;  "  but " 

"  But  are  we  not  all  children  V  continued  Gertrude  :  "  and 
is  it  not  distrust  to  think  that  we  shall  be  permitted  to  remain 
weak  and  sinful  when  we  have  but  to  ask  for  strength  and  re- 
ceive it  1" 

"  Do  not  talk  of  those  things,"  exclaimed  Laura  :  "  I  cannot 
listen  to  them  ;  they  have  no  power  to  comfort  me." 

"  Then  there  is  indeed  no  hope  for  me,"  said  Gertrude,  sadly  ; 
"  I  have  nothing  else  to  say  that  can  give  you  relief." 

"  And  will  you  leave  me  V  exclaimed  Laura,  bitterly — "  leave 
me  to  my  misery  '!" 

Gertrude's  answer  was  in  action  more  than  in  words.  With 
the  tenderness  of  a  mother  for  a  petted  child,  she  threw  her  arm 
round  her  sister's  neck,  and  gently  unloosening  her  bonnet,  said, 
as  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  shoulder,  "  How  could  I  leave  you 
tvhen  you  have  confided  in  me  V 

"  And  you  will  still  love  me,"  murmured  Laura,  "  though  ! 
cannot  feel  as  you  do  ?" 

"  I  must  love  you  through  every  thing,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  bu 


GERTRUDE  209 


it  is  a  love  which  will  but  give  me  pain,  if  I  may  not  talk  to  you 
upon  the  only  subject  which  can  be  a  blessing  to  you." 

"  A  blessing  to  the  good,  you  mean,  not  to  me,"  replied  Lau- 
ra. "  There  is  no  blessing  for  me,  Gertrude  :  I  am  not  worthv 
of  it." 

'•  And  who  may  expect  it,  if  worthiness  is  needed  !"  said  Ger- 
trude.    "  You  may  have  done  wrong-,  very  wrong;   but  if  there 
is  no  help  for  you,  there  can  be  none  for  the  best  of  human  beings. 
Will  you  not  think  of  this,  and  pray  ?" 
w  "  It  will  not  make  me  happy,"  said  Laura,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Yes,  in  time  it  will,  it  must,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  If  at  this 
moment  you  co"uld  be  assured  of  Edward's  pardon,  it  could  not 
be  sufficient  for  your  happiness,  without  the  pardon  ind  the 
assistance  of  God ;  but  if  you  have  that,  you  need  not  fear  any 
thing." 

"  My  life  has  been  so  different  from  yours,  Gertrude.  I  can- 
not think  about  it  at  all  now.  When  I  have  nothing  else  upon 
my  mind  I  will  try  to  be  better." 

••  And  if  that  time  should  never  come — if  you  were  never  to 
find  courage  to  speak  to  Edward,  and  were  to  go  on  for  years  with 
this  secret  preying  upon  you  ?" 

Laura  shuddered. 

"  It  is  the  power  to  do  right  which  you  want,"  continued  Ger- 
trude;  "  and  that  power  cannot  be  obtained  bv  your  own  efforts, 
and  therefore  you  cannot  look  forward  to  any  time  when  you  will 
be  able  to  amend.  I  know  that  you  are  miserable,  dearest  :  and 
perhaps  it  seems  idle  to  talk  so  generally,  when  you  are  thinking 
only  upon  one  subject ;  but  I  cannot  offer  you  comfort  which  1 
feel  to  be  false.  I  may  tell  you  that  Edward  will  forgive,  and  1 
am  sure  he  will  ;  but  1  am  sure  also  that  his  forgiveness  is  not 
all  you  require,  and  that  if  you  trust  to  yourself  you  will  not  li 
courage  to  ask  it.  You  would  not  bear  to  believe  that  your  fu- 
ture life  was  to  be  like  the  past." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Laura,  vehemently. 

"And  you  have  owned  to  me  that  you  are  wretched,  and  that 
yon  are  most  grieved  for  having  acted  wrongly  ;  and  you  wish  me 
to  help  you.  Oh,  Laura,  why  will  you  not  confess  this  to  one 
who  can  !" 

"  But,"  exclaimed  Laura,  "  it  is  no  use  to  b^  Borry,  and  pray 
to  God  to  forgive  me,  whilst  I  am  deceiving  Edward." 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  and  if  you  feel  this,  there  can  \»: 

no  doubt  of  your  duly." 
Laura  was  silent. 

'  For  Edward's  sake  for  your  own  Bake,  for  :ill  our  Bakes,  da 
not  delay,"  continued  Gertrude,  in  a  deep  earne  I  tone.  "Only 
tay  that  you  will  not — only  ask  thai  your  courage  may  nol  fail. 

.Still  Laura  was  silent.     The  on  of  her  mind  waa  fully 


210  GERTRUDE. 


visible  in  her  countenance,  and  twice  she  strove  in  vain  to  an- 
swer. At  length,  rising  from  her  seat,  she  said,  with  a  forced 
efTort,  "  I  shall  see  you,  Gertrude,  to-morrow.  I  cannot  talk  ol 
other  things  now." 

"To-morrow,  if  you  will,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  and  shall  it  be 
at  Allingham  V 

Laura  busied  herself  with  her  dress,  and  appeared  not  to  hear 
and  Gertrude  added — "  If  I  might,  I  should  ask  to  be  with   you 
this  evening.     I  should  only  be  unhappy  here  in  thinking  you 
were  alone." 

The  manner  in  which  this  was  said  completely  overcame 
Laura's  effort  at  self-command.  "  Why  are  you  not  with  me 
always!"  she  exclaimed.  "Then  I  might  be  different;  but 
now " 

"  Now  you  will  think  of  all  we  have  been  saying,"  replied 
Gertrude,  affectionately,  "  and  resolve,  but  not  in  your  own 
strength,  and  then  promise  that  you  will  act." 

"  Yes,"  began  Laura,  earnestly,  "  I  will  promise  you  ;"  but 
Gertrude  stopped  her — "  Stay,  dearest,"  she  said  ;  "  a  promise  is 
too  sacred  to  be  given  in  haste.  When  we  meet  this  evening 
you  will  have  had  more  time  for  consideration." 

"  And  you — will  you  not  go  back  with  me?"  said  Laura,  im- 
ploringly. "  I  have  many  things  to  say  besides  this  one.  If 
Edward  should  not  return  in  time,  what  shall  I  do  on  Thursday  1 
I  am  feeling  so  ill  and  tired,  as  if  I  could  not  possibly  receive  all 
those  people  alone." 

"You  must  trust  that  Edward  will  keep  his  word,"  said  Ger- 
trude, encouragingly  ;  but  Laura's  sigh  reminded  her  that  both 
his  absence  and  his  presence  would  be  equally  painful.  "At 
any  rate,  we  can  talk  over  your  difficulties  to-night,"  she  added, 
"  which  will  be  more  convenient  to  me  than  going  back  with  you 
at  once  ;  and  with  so  many  sisters  it  will  be  strange  if  you  are 
left  without  some  help." 

Laura  tried  to  smile,  but  her  heart  was  too  heavy,  and  her 
manner  alone  showed  her  consciousness  of  Gertrude's  affection 


CHAPTER   XXXI, 


If  Laura  had  need  of  solitude,  it  was  not  ess  required  by 
Gertrude  ;  and,  dreading  interruption,  she  shut  herself  up  in  her 
own  room  to  think  at  leisure  upon  what  she  had  heard.  The 
interest  of  the  conversation    had  prevented  her  thoughts  from 


GERTRUDE.  211 


dwelling  upon  the  fears  which  had  been  awakened  for  Edward, 
but  when  Laura  was  gone  they  returned  in  full  force.  She  was 
too  keen-sighted  not  to  have  perceived  that  something  had  been 
preying  upon  her  brother's  spirits  ever  since  her  return  to  the 
Priory ;  but  it  was  the  fashion  to  attribute  it  to  parliamentary 
worries,  and  the  style  of  living  at  Allingham  forbade  any  one  to 
think  that  economy  was  at  all  requisite.  Even  the  conversation 
which  she  had  held  with  her  sister  on  Torrington  Heath,  had 
only  made  her  uncomfortable  for  the  moment ;  as  Edith  herself 
seemed  then  to  think  that  her  former  apprehensions  were  ground- 
less, and  it  was  difficult  for  Gertrude's  charity  to  believe,  that 
one  so  perfect  as  Edward  in  word  and  feeling,  could  be  so  faulty 
in  practice.  And  now,  it  was  not  that  she  at  all  surmised  the 
true  state  of  the  case,  but  she  was  oppressed  by  that  dark,  fear- 
ful apprehension  of  coming  evil,  which  is  often  experienced  by 
persons  whose  early  lives  have  been  free  from  trial,  and  who 
know  that,  in  the-course  of  God's  providence,  affliction  must 
sooner  or  later  be  at  hand.  Sad  visions  of  care  passed  before 
her  as  she  thought  upon  Edward,  but  there  was  something 
worse  than  care,  which  she  scarcely  dared  to  dwell  upon.  If  he 
were  embarrased,  who  could  tell  how  strong  might  be  the 
temptation  to  free  himself  at  any  sacrifice  ;  and  little  as  Gertrude 
had  hitherto  known  of  political  affairs,  she  felt  that  the  pledge 
proposed  by  General  Forester  could  scarcely  be  consistent  with 
strict  honor.  She  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  she  had  mis- 
taken Laura's  words,  but  the  impression  of  them  still  remained. 
She  reasoned,  but  reason  was  useless.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  Edward  could  act  dishonorably,  but  the  firmest  characters 
had  failed  in  less  trying  circumstances.  It  was  unlikely  that 
the  proposal  had  been  made,  but  certainly  Laura  had  men- 
tioned it.  General  Forester  was  not  a  man  of  any  weight,  and 
Edward  would  not  listen  to  him  ;  but  he  had  lately  been  his 
chief  guide  in  his  election  affairs.  Gertrude's  clear  intellect  was 
bewildered  with  fear.  She  closed  her  eyes,  striving  to  shut  out 
all  that  might  distract  her,  that  so  she  might  more  clearly  see 
whether  any  thing  could  be  done  to  guard  her  brother  from  the 
temptation.  Money  seemed  the  one  thing  required ;  and  as  she 
frit  this,  a  doubt,  painful  almost  to  agony,  crossed  her  mind. 
With  an  involuntary  effort  she  resisted  it,  but  again  it  came. 
Gertrude's  conscience  was  not  one  to  be  trifled  with.  Once 
inure  she  turned  from  it,  but  only  for  an  instant  ;  and  when  Still, 
through  every  other  consideration,  the  question  forced  ll  I  l 
upon  her,  she  knelt  to  pray  that  if  the  sacrifice  of  her  long-ch<  r- 
ished  wishes  were  required,  it  mighl  be  made  withoul  repining. 
The  words  had  scarcely  been  uttered,  when  a  knock  was  heard 
At  tin;  door,  and  a  servant  begged  thai  she  would  go  and  speak 
to  Mrs.   Courtenay,     Gertrude's  firsl  impulse   was  to  send  an 


212  GERTRUDE. 


excuse.  It  seemed  impossible,  at  that  moment,  to  give  attention 
to  any  one  ;  but  respect  for  her  mother  conquered  her  reluctance, 
and  without  delay  she  went  to  her  room.  Mrs.  Courtenay  was 
resting  after  a  drive  to  the  county  town,  but  seemed  full  of  busi- 
ness and  excitement. 

';  Ah  !  my  dear,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  have  not  been  out. 
That  is  very  wrong;  you  will  never  be  well  if  you  shut  yourself 
up  so.  And  what  have  you  been  doing  ]  We  have  had  such 
a  nice  drive.  I  saw  the  child,  and  she  is  a  great  deal  better, — 
quite  a  different  creature — that  medicine  is  so  remarkably  good ; 
though,  by  the  by,  they  have  made  it  up  very  badly.  But,  do 
you  know,  we  were  intending  to  call  at  Allingham,  and  they 
told  us  at  the  lodge  that  Edward  was  gone  to  town  ;  and  Johnson 
says  that  Laura  has  been  here,  and  that  she  was  looking  ill,  and 
it  put  me  in  sucli  a  fright  that  I  sent  for  you  directly." 

"  Laura  has  been  here,"  replied  Gertrude,  in  a  tone  which,  to 
any  other  ear  than  her  mother's,  would  have  betrayed  a  painful 
effort ;  "  I  don't  think  she  was  looking  particularly  well,  but  I 
shall  hear  more  about  her  this  evening,  for  if  you  have  no  objec- 
tion, I  am  going  to  drink  tea  with  her." 

"  Objection,  my  dear !  no,  what  'bjection  could  T  have]  but 
you  had  better  order  the  carnage  directly — Foster  is  not  half  as 
punctual  as  he  used  to  be." 

"  Laura  will  be  alone,"  said  Gertrude,  "  for  Edward  is  gone  to 
town." 

"  But  what  for?  He  said  nothing  about  it  yesterday;  and 
why  doesn't  Laura  come  and  drink  tea  here,  instead  of  taking 
you  away.  It  would  be  much  more  sociable  ;  just  let  me  send 
and  say  so.  Edward  can't  really  be  gone,  though, — there  is  the 
party  on  Thursday  ;  he  must  be  at  home  then." 

"  Laura  hopes  he  will,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  if  he  should  not, 
she  must  do  as  she  can  without  him  ;  so  I  had  better  go  to  her 
this  evening,  because  she  wants  to  talk  over  some  arrangements, 
and  they  would  only  be  tiresome  to  you." 

"  Oh  no,  my  love  !  not  at  all  tiresome.  There  is  nothing  1 
like  better  than  arrangements.  But  it  is  best  to  let  young  peo- 
ple please  themselves,  so  if  you  like  to  go,  do ;  only  don't  let 
Laura  think  we  should  not  have  been  glad  to  see  her.  I  must 
give  you  some  sugar-plums  fc-  Charlie,  which  he  was  to  have 
had  this  afternoon,  but  we  did  not  go  in."  Mrs.  Courtenay  dived 
into  the  depth  of  a  most  capacious  reticule,  and  drew  out  one  by 
one  its  various  contents,  commenting  upon  each  as  she  laid  it 
on  the  table  ;  "  That — no,  that  is  not  it ;  it  was  a  little  square 
box ;  there  are  some  lozenges  for  you  in  it  too,  my  dear.  I 
heard  you  cough  last  night,  several  times.  Wait  one  minute,  I 
must  take  out  the  parcels  first,  and  then  I  shall  find  it.  The  rib- 
bon is  for  my  morning  cap  ;  and  the  gloves  I  bought  at  Earl's 


GERTRUDE.  21 S 


— Saddler's  gloves  are  so  bad,  they  don't  wear  any  time.  So 
provoking  it  is!  what  is  wanted  first,  is  always  sure  to  be  last. 
Dear  me  !  Jane  forgot  her  letter  for  the  post." 

"Can  I  help  you,  dear  mamma  ?'.'  said  Gertrude  in  conster- 
nation at  the  sight  of  a  littje  packet  of  bills,  two  more  boxes,  ana 
a  thimble. 

"  No,  my  dear  ;  no,  thank  you.  I  shall  find  it  presently  ,  it 
is  one  of  these,  but  they  are  so  much  alike." 

"  There  is  the  first  dinner  bell,"  said  Gertrude. 
,  "  Never  mind,  my  dear ;  it  won't  signify  about  your  dress. 
we  are  only  ourselves.     So  tiresome  this  is,  I  do  think  I  must 
have  left  the  bbx  at  Earl's." 

"  Perhaps  some  one  will  be  going  to  the  town  to-morrow," 
said  Gertrude,  "  and  then  it  can  be  asked  for." 

"  Well !  that  would  be  a  good  plan  ;  but — now  I  recollect — I 
left  the  sugar-plums  on  the  drawing-room  mantel-piece,  just  by 
the  middle  vase  ;  you  had  better  go  and  fetch  them,  my  dear,  or 
somebody  will  be  sure  to  take  them." 

Poor  Gertrude!  what  would  she  not  have  given  for  those 
few  minutes  alone — but  it  was  not  to  be.  The  sugar-plums 
were  found,  and  brought  back  ;  and  then,  considering  that  Ger- 
trude was  in  the  room,  and  her  maid  not,  Mrs.  Courtenay 
thought  it  better  to  trouble  one  than  the  other,  and  suggested 
that  her  bonnet  should  be  put  in  the  wardrobe,  and  her  shau  I 
in  the  drawer,  and  all  the  other  et  ceteras  of  her  walking  dress 
properly  provided  for,  till  the  second  bell  rang  before  all  her 
wants  were  attended  to,  and  Gertrude  had  only  time  to  make  a 
hasty  toilette,  and  descend  to  the  dining-room  with  an  apology 
for  being  late.  The  dinner  appeared  interminable ;  and  with 
all  her  endeavors,  Gertrude  could  not  prevent  herself  from  oc- 
casionally beginning  to  weigh  the  conflicting  claims  of  Edward 
and  the  church.  Charlotte  addressed  her  twice  without  being 
answered,  and  Jane  several  times  begged  for  the  salt  in  vain  ; 
and  then  both  began  to  rally  her  upon  her  unusual  abstraction, 
till  the  tears  rushed  to  Gertrude's  eyes,  and  a  choking  sensation 
was  felt  in  her  throat;  and,  as  a  last  resource  against  observa- 
tion, she  pleaded — what  was  indeed  the  case— a  bad  headache. 
Edith  watched  her  with  the  greatest  uneasiness,  and  followed 
her  to  her  room  when  dinner  was  over,  to  se(  k  an  explanation, 
but  Gertrude  could  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  it.  And  all  she 
owned  was,  that  Laura  was  unhappy  about  some  personal  af- 
fairs, and  had  come  to  consull  her  ;  and  thi  i,  with  tie'  headache, 
was  tie   best  information  Edith  could  obi  lin      SI  iced, 

hut  not    convinced,  and  was  just  beginning  an  account  ol   her 
own  interview  with   Laura,  when  the  carriage  was  announi 
and  the  few  minutes,«which  Gertrude  had  calculated   upon 
lug  to  herself,  wi  ie.     iret  there  was  no  impatience  in  hei 


214  GERTRUDE. 


replies ;  no  annoyance  in  her  countenance  ;  not  even  a  symptom 
of  irritation  in  her  manner,  when  Mrs.  Courtenay  stopped  her 
in  the  hall  to  entreat  that  she  would  send  an  excuse  to  Laura 
and  go  to  bed  ;  or  (if  that  were  impossible)  take  a  dose  of  sal- 
volatile  before  she  set  off.  She  did,  what  the  most  obedient  of 
daughters  would  scarcely  have  thought  necessary ;  and  Mrs. 
Courtenay  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  to  spend  a  comforta- 
ble evening,  satisfied  that  poor  dear  Gertrude's  headache  was 
nervous, — she  could  tell  it  from  the  way  her  hand  trembled  when 
she  held  the  glass, — and  nothing  could  be  so  good  for  nervous 
headache  as  sal-volatile.  Charlotte  resisted  the  notion  of  Ger- 
trude's having  any  nerves  :  declaring  that,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  they  were  only  an  excuse  for  ill-temper.  Jane  complained 
very  much  of  her  going  away ;  and  Edith  strongly  took  her 
part ;  and  in  the  olden  time,  such  a  source  of  disagreement  might 
have  brought  on  a  skirmish  of  words  for  at  least  half  an  hour ; 
but  Edith  had  not  passed  several  months  under  the  same  roof 
with  Gertrude,  without  learning  something  of  her  way  of  pre- 
serving family  harmony  ;  and  the  proposal  of  a  few  turns  upor 
the  terrace  with  Charlotte,  followed  by  a  little  music,  was  suc- 
cessful in  restoring  the  unanimity  of  feeling. 

It  was  late  when  Gertrude  returned.  The  drawing-room  was 
empty,  and  the  lamp  extinguished,  and  with  silent  steps  she  stole 
up  the  stairs  to  avoid  disturbing  any  one.  But  Edith's  quick 
ear  had  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  gently  unfastening  her 
door,  she  beckoned  her  sister  to  her  room. 

"  They  are  all  gone  to  bed,  except  me,"  she  said,  as  Gertrude 
entered  ;  "  but  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  go  till  I  had  seen 
you,  you  looked  so  miserably  ill  when  you  went  away." 

"  Did  I  ?"   said  Gertrude,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Yes ;  and  you  are  not  much  better  now.  There  must  be 
something  very  much  the  matter.     Why  won't  you  tell  me  ]" 

"  Perhaps  I  might  tell  you  part,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  though 
of  course  not  what  concerns  Laura  personally.  Do  you  remem- 
ber something  you  said  to  me  a  few  months  ago  when  we  were 
walking  on  Torrington  Heath — it  was  about  Edward  !" 

"  And  my  fears  <"  said  Edith,  "  and  Mr.  Dacre's  T  Yes,  I 
remember  it  perfectly." 

"  If  they  should  come  true" — continued  Gertrude,  in  a  calm 
voice. 

Edith  started  :  "  Oh  Gertrude  !  tell  me  ;  pray  tell  me.  What 
do  you  know  ?" 

"  Hush  !  dearest,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  we  must  not  frighten 
mamma ;  and  I  do  not  exactly  know  any  thing." 

"  But  you  suspect  something." 

"  I  suspect — indeed  I  am  nearly  sure  he  is  in  very  great  dif- 
ficulties.    I  guessed  it  from  some  facts  Laura  told  me  this  after 


GERTRUDE.  215 

noon,  and  I  have  been  talking  to  her  since  ;  and  though  she  will 
not  i'ace  the  possibility  of  the  case  being  a  bad  one,  she  allows 
there  is  something  amiss." 

"  Then  it  has  really  happened  as  Mr.  Dacre  and  I  imagined," 
exclaimed  Edith,  bitteny  ;  "and  Edward  has  been  wilfully  blind. 
What  fortune  of  two  thousand  a  year  could  stand  the  expenses 
of  six]" 

"  llf-x  V  said  Gertrude,  and  her  tone  of  surprise  awakened 
Edith  to  the  consciousness  of  having  betrayed  her  brother's 
secret. 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  thing  to  be  kept  private,  now,"  she  replied  ; 
!  at  least  from  his  own  family.  When  Colonel  Courtenay  died, 
the  Allingham  property  was  worth  only  two  thousand  a  year  ; 
but  no  one  knew  it  except  Edward  and  his  lawyers,  and  the  one 
or  two  persons  who  learned  it  from  him.  My  mother  was  never 
told,  nor  Jane,  nor  Charlotte  ;  but  at  that  time  he  kept  nothing 
from  me." 

"  And  Laura  !"  said  Gertrude. 

"I  cannot  tell.  I  have  often  tried  to  find  out ;  but  we  have 
known  so  little  of  each  other  intimately,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
do  it ;  and  after  Edward  married,  he  threw  such  a  veil  of  mys- 
tery over  all  his  affairs,  that  I  could  not  ask  him  any  thing  about 
them." 

"  Laura  does  not  know,  I  am  nearly  certain,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  I  have  been  talking  to  her  a  great  deal  this  evening,  and  she 
has  given  me  an  account  of  their  London  life.  Even  with  six 
thousand  a  year  they  would  have  been  dreadfully  extravagant."' 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  "  I  know  they  must  have  been.  Charlotte 
spent  one  spring  with  them,  and  gave  us  details  of  enormous  ex- 
penses ;  but  it  was  just  then  that  every  one  was  praising  Ed- 
ward's talents,  and  prophesying  that  he  would  be  a  great  man, 
and  I  thought  less  about  it." 

"  And  do  you  really  mean,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  Edward's 
income  has  never  been  more  than  what  you  say  ?" 

"  Never  ;  and  it  was  the  knowledge  of  this  which  made  me 
tremble  at  the  election." 

Gertrude  almost  shuddered  at  the  very  name  of  the  election. 
"  Tell  me,  Edith,"  she  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  if  Edward's 
affairs  are  really  in  the  state  which  we  fear,  how  will  he  be  able 
to  bear  it  ]     Will  he  have  courage  to  face  the  evii   " 

"No,"  said  Edith,  sadly,  but  decidedly.  "  II'-  will  drive  it 
from  his  thoughts  till  it  is  forced  upon  him  without  the  possibility 
of  escape.  And  then, — I  cannot  tell--"'  And  poor  Edith  turned 
away  to  hide,  even  from  her  sister,  the  bitternes  -  of  hex  feelings. 
"  You  hare  never  loved  him  as  1  have  loved,11  she  .said,  when 
Gertrude  strove  to  comfort  her  :  "  5fou  cannot  know  how  .ill  my 
purest  enjoyments  have  been  blended  with  him.     If  I  hive  evei 


216  GERTRUDE. 


had  a  good  thought,  or  been  able  to  conquer  a  bad  feeling,  it  was 
because  of  the  principles  he  taught  me  ;  and  he  is  good — he 
must  be  good  now  ;  others  have  been  extravagant,  too — it  is  not 
a  sin.  Gertrude,  dearest — only  say  so  ;  say  you  do  not  think  the 
worse  of  him." 

It  was  a  painful  appeal  for  Gertrude's  sincerity.  Wilful  ex- 
travagance involves  so  much  of  self-indulgence,  and  thoughtless- 
ness, and  neglect  of  solemn  duties,  that  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  answer. 

"  You  may  condemn  him,"  continued  Edith,  eagerly  :  "but  if 
you  had  but  known  him  as  he  once  was — so  noble,  and  kind,  and 
careful  for  every  one,  and  thinking  so  little  of  his  talents,  and 
only  wishing  to  do  good.  Gertrude,  he  was  perfect ;  yes,  indeed, 
he  was  perfect :  and  oh  !  how  I  loved  him !" 

"  And  we  all  love  him,  now,  dearest,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  and 
must  try  to  help  him.  And  it  was  this  which  I  wished  to  speak 
to  you  about." 

"  And  can  you  help  him  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  a  gleam  of  hope 
lighting  up  her  countenance. 

"  Not  permanently,  but  I  might  do  something  for  the  present ; 
only  then "  the  sentence  was  unfinished,  but  Edith  under- 
stood it. 

"No!"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  that  cannot  be.  After  all  your  wishes 
— your  plans — and  it  would  not  be  right." 

"  I  cannot  say,"  replied  Gertrude,  quietly.  "  There  may  be 
duties  even  greater  than  the  building-  of  a  church.  If  it  were  to 
save  him  from  a  great  temptation,  Edith ; — from  the  sacrifice  of 
his  highest  principles  ?" 

"  But  is  it  so?"  said  Edith,  in  alarm  ;  and,  after  a  minute's 
consideration,  she  added,  "  and  if  it  were  so,  your  fortune  is  so 
small." 

"  It  would  be  something  ;  it  might  stay  the  evil,  though  not 
prevent  it." 

"  But  you  could  not,"  exclaimed  Edith.  "  The  church  has 
been  your  dream  for  years  ;  you  said  so  only  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  yet  that  may  be  the  very  reason 
why  it  may  be  necessary  I  should  relinquish  it  ?" 

Poor  Edith  felt  confused  by  the  conflicting  ideas  which  pre- 
sented themselves  to  her  mind,  and  could  not  realize  the  danger 
to  Edward's  principles  to  which  Gertrude  had  alluded.  "  Have 
you  really  determined  upon  giving  up  the  church  ?"  she  said,  at 
length. 

"No  ;  I  have  not  had  time  for  considering  the  subject,  and  as 
yet  every  thing  is  uncertain.  But  merely  upon  the  supposition, 
I  like  to  think  how  I  should  be  bound  to  act.  How  could  we 
endure  any  person's  assisting  him  upon  terms  which  are  not  hon- 
orable 1" 


GERTRUDE.  217 


"  How  could  we  endure  any  person's  assisting  him  upon  any 
terms  ?"  interrupted  Edith,  proudly.  "  Do  not  mention  it  again, 
Gertrude.  A  Courtenay  submit  to  an  obligation !  Even  Jane 
would  sacrifice  her  last  farthing  to  prevent  it." 

"  The  Courtenays  may  be  doomed  to  greater  trials  than 
that,"  said  Gertrude,  mournfully.  "  Dishonor  is  more  galling 
than  obligation.  I  would  give — but  it  is  not  right  to  distrust — 
only  it  seems  as  if  there  would  be  less  cause  to  fear  if  Edward 
were  not  gone." 

»  For  some  minutes  Edith  stood  mechanically  playing  with  the 
candle, — and  gazing  upon  its  light ;  at  length  she  said,  "  Can 
you  not  fancy,  Gertrude,  what  it  would  be  to  be  borne  along  by 
the  eddies  of  a  whirlpool — to  see  before  you  the  gulf  in  which 
you  must  sink,  and  to  feel  yourself  at  every  instant  approaching 
it  with  greater  velocity  V 

"  Yes,"  said  Gertrude  :  "  life  has  its  whirlpools,  and  this  may 
be  one  ;  but  we  need  not  be  afraid  of  sinking  without  the  power 
of  rising  again  :  it  would  be  a  want  of  faith.  Hark,  Edith  !  the 
clock  is  striking  twelve.  How  frightened  mamma  would  be,  if 
she  were  to  hear  us  !" 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  Edith  :  "  we  shall  neither  of  us  sleep 
very  much,  if  we  do  go  to  bed." 

"  But  I  have  so  much  to  think  of,"  said  Gertrude  :  "  indeed,  I 
must  not  stay  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  go  to  sleep,"  replied  Edith  ;  "  there  will 
be  the  waking  to-morrow  with  that  vague,  horrible  feeling,  of 
some  unknown  evil  hanging  over  one." 

"  And  the  gradual  dawning  of  the  truth,  and  the  wretched- 
ness of  the  full  reality,"  added  Gertrude,  attempting  to  smile,  as 
she  took  up  her  candle  to  go  ;  "  but  we  will  not  fear :  it  is 
wrong." 

Edith's  reply  was  a  whispered  "  God  bless  you,  dear,  dear 
Gertrude,"  and  the  sisters  separated,  Edith  remaining  to  medi- 
tate upon  the  long  dreaded  events  which  seemed  now  approach- 
ing, and  Gertrude  stealthily  treading  the  carpeted  floors,  to  avoid 
disturbing  the  household,  before  she  reached  her  room.  And 
with  what  different  feelings  did  she  now  enter  it  from  those  which 
had  so  filled  her  heart  on  the  previous  evening !  There  were 
the  same  walls,  the  same  furniture,  the  same  books.  There  was 
the  table  piled  with  drawings  of  churches,  which  it  had  been  In  r 
pleisure  to  collect  from  her  friends.  There  waa  the  desk,  or. 
which  lay  the  letter  which  she  had  finished  for  Mr.  Daore. 
There  were  papers  scattered  about  on  which  Bhe  had  even  pro- 
ceeded to  make  calculations  of  different  items  of  expense.  But 
the  charm  of  all  was  gone.  .Scarcely  allowing  herself  a  glance, 
she  replaced  the  drawings  in  her  portfolio,  and  the  letter  and 
papers  in  her  desk;  and  forgetting  the  lateness  of  the  hour  arc? 
!0 


218  GERTRUDE. 


the  mental  fatigue  she  had  undergone,  once  more  knelt  to  ask 
for  strength,  both  in  judgment  and  in  action,  and  then  set  herself 
seriously  to  consider  what  ought  to  be  her  conduct  under  the  cir- 
cumstances which  Laura  had  more  clearly  explained  in  theii 
evening  conversation. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

The  breakfast  party  at  the  Priory  was  not  now  what  it  had 
oeen,  when  more  than  four  years  before  Edith  had  so  sighed 
over  the  absence  of  family  union.  Mrs.  Courtenay  still  com- 
plained of  sleepless  nights,  and  Jane  lamented  her  habitual  ill 
health  ;  Edith  also  took  as  great  an  interest  in  the  parish  school, 
and  Charlotte  talked  as  lightly  and  cut  bread  as  diligently  as 
before.  But  the  sharp  edges  of  character  had  been  much  worn 
away  by  the  influence  of  tact  and  example ;  and  notwithstand- 
ing their  serious  causes  of  uneasiness,  Edith  would  have  hesi- 
tated to  exchange  her  present  feelings,  had  they  not  been  mixed 
with  self-reproach,  for  the  loneliness  and  discomfort  which  she 
had  experienced  on  the  morning  when  she  received  from  Miss 
Forester  the  first  hint  of  Edward's  intended  marriage.  All 
trials  are  comparatively  light  whilst  the  sanctuary  of  home  is 
untouched ;  and  Edith,  though  burdened  with  regret  for  the 
past,  and  forebodings  for  the  future,  could  still  be  thankful  for 
the  mercy  which  was  sparing  her  the  additional  pain  of  domes- 
tic discord.  Gertrude,  however,  was  not  so  fully  alive  to  the 
effects  of  her  own  conduct,  and  still  saw  much  which  she  longed 
to  alter ;  but  every  other  feeling  was  now  engrossed  in  anxiety 
for  Edward. 

A  sleepless  night  had  brought  its  natural  consequences — a 
continued  headache  ;  and  Mrs.  Courtenay's  faith  in  sal-volatile 
was  rather  shaken,  when  she  observed  Gertrude's  heavy  eyes 
and  pale  lips. 

"  You  were  so  late  last  night,  my  love,"  she  said  ;  "  Mitchell 
told  me  that  you  wyere  not  back  till  after  eleven,  and  I  am  sure 
I  heard  you  moving  about,  after  twelve." 

Gertrude  pleaded  guilty  to  being  late,  but  6aid  "  that  Laur* 
never  went  to  bed  early  herself,  and  so  persuaded  her  to 
stay." 

"  And  talk  over  to-morrow,  I  suppose,"  said  -Jane.  "  What 
does  she  intend  to  do,  all  by  herself!" 

"She   depends   upon    Edward's   returning,"    said    Gertrude 


GERTRUDE.  219 


"  but  I  tried  to  persuade  her  not  to  do  it.     It  seems  very  uncer- 
tain." 

"  If  it  is  uncertain,"  observed  Charlotte,  "  you  may  be  quite 
sure  what  will  happen.  Gentlemen  only  say  they  are  uncertain 
when  they  have  fully  made  up  their  minds,  and  have  not  courage 
to  confess  it ;  and  Ed  vard  hates  archery  parties." 

"  Yet  they  are  better  than  any  thing  else,"  said  Edith,  "  less 
formal,  and  not  so  expensive." 

"  Who  cares  for  expense  at  Allingham  ?"  exclaimed  Charlotte. 
"^Besides,  from  what  1  have  heard  Laura  say,  I  suspect  this  will 
be  any  thing  but  an  economical  affair." 

'•  A  splendid  imitation  of  the  Vivian  parties  last  year,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Jane. 

"  It  will  be  an  extremely  pretty  thing,  if  it  is  well  managed," 
said  Gertrude.  "  They  are  going  to  light  up  the  conservatory  in 
the  evening,  and  give  up  the  drawing-room  for  dancing,  and  the 
library  is  to  be  used  for  the  reception  room,  and  the  dining-room 
for  the  dejeuner  and  the  refreshments." 

Edith  sighed  audibly,  and  Gertrude,  fearful  of  '.  t  attracting 
observation,  hastily  continued — 

"  Laura  will  have  so  many  things  to  do  to-day  that  I  have  pro- 
mised to  help  her.     She  is  not  at  all  equal  to  any  exertion." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go,"  said  Jane  :  "  It  is  a  very  agreeable 
thing  to  talk  about,  but  one  pays  a  dreadful  penalty  afterwards 
for  being  amused." 

"  Laura  said  she  hoped  we  should  all  go,"  observed  Gertrude  ; 
"and,  if  Edward  is  not  there,  we  might  be  extremely  use- 
ful." 

"Yes,"  said  Charlotte;  "she  might  station  us  at  different 
places,  with  certain  divisions  to  look  alter.  Remember,  I  put  in 
my  claim  for  the  dining-room.  I  venture  to  say  I  shall  be  more 
popular  than  any  one  of  you." 

"  The  reception  is  the  awkward  part  of  the  business,"  said 
Gertrude  ;  "  half  the  persons  invited  are  election  acquaintances, 
and  Laura  has  never  seen  them  above  once  or  twice,  and  some 
not  at  all." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  these  huge  omnibus  parties,"  <>!>- 
served  Charlotte  ;  "  one  gathers  up  such  a  quantity  of  BCum 
with  them." 

"  It  is  better  than  having  the  scum  alone,"  said  Jane.  "  li  yen 
must  invite  disagreeable  people  to  your  house,  it  is  far  better  to 
swallow  them  whole,  with  something  in  make  them  palatable,  than 
to  have  a  separate  dose  of  each  individual." 

( Intrude  felt  distressed  at  the  turn  the  conversation  was  taking, 
and   quietly  made   an   effort   to   divert    it.     "  Laura  and  I  w< 
wondering  last  night,"  she  said,  "whether   Mr.   Dacre   would 
go       He   had   a   most   pressing    invitation,   and  he   will 


220  GERTRUDE. 


if  he  feels  equal  to  it,  but  I  suspect  that  is  more  than  half  an 
excuse." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  him  there,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  he  would 
be  out  of  his  element." 

"  How  unkind,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  and 
we  all  make  so  much  of  him  when  he  comes  here." 

"  The  very  reason  why  I  hope  he  will  keep  away  from  Ailing- 
ham,"  replied  Charlotte  ;  "  I  respect  him  too  much  to  wish  to 
see  him  in  a  false  position." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  adjusted  her  spectacles,  and  looked  at  her 
daughter  for  a  minute,  but  reading  no  explanation  of  her  words 
in  her  countenance,  returned  to  the  newspaper  ;  and  Edith, 
weary  of  a  trifling  conversation,  when  her  thoughts  were  engross- 
ed with  more  important  subjects,  took  the  opportunity  of  a  pause, 
to  rise  from  the  table,  and  beg  Gertrude  to  go  with  her  into  the 
garden. 

"  How  can  you  talk  with  such  indifference,  Gertrude,*"  she 
exclaimed,  when  they  were  alone  ;  "  and  about  things  which 
come  home  to  one  so  painfully  ?  I  thought  I  must  have  left  the 
room  when  they  were  discussing  the  archery  party." 

"  I  thought  so  too,  at  first,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  Certainly 
nothing  could  be  more  contrary  to  one's  inclinations  than  talking 
about  it,  except,  perhaps,  joining  it :  and  poor  Laura  is  so  sadly 
worried,  she  says  that  if  Edward  does  not  come  home  she  will 
never  be  able  to  go  through  with  it.  That  is  one  reason  why  I 
suggested  our  all  going ;  for  really,  if  she  is  as  unwell  to- 
morrow as  she  was  yesterday,  we  might  be  of  the  greatest  use  to 
her." 

"Not  you,  I  am  sure,"  said  Edith;  "  you  are  more  fit  now 
to  be  in  your  bed  than  anywhere  else." 

"  To  make  up  for  want  of  sleep  last  night,"  replied  Gertrude, 
with  a  sad  smile  ;  "  but  I  am  more  comfortable  upon  one  point. 
I  have  determined  upon  consulting  Mr.  Dacre  as  to  what  should 
and  might  be  done  ;  and  I  have  written  to  him  to  ask  him  to 
come  to  me  this  morning." 

Edith's  face  brightened  with  greater  satisfaction  than  she 
had  yet  experienced.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  there  is  no  one  else  to 
help  us  :  and,  Gertrude,  I  told  you,  he  knows  all.  He  learnt  it 
from  some  business  transactions  which  he  had  with  Edward's 
lawyer — that  is,  he  guesses  it,  for  I  suppose  he  could  not  have 
been  told  details.  But  it  is  so  strange.  I  cannot  realize  that 
there  is  any  reason  for  great  alarm,  as  I  did  last  night.  Then  1 
was  utterly  miserable,  now  I  think  I  am  only  irritable  and  im- 
patient." 

"  It  is  because  every  thing  about  us  is  just  the  same  ;  and  be- 
sides, sunshine  and  beautiful  scenery  help  a  person  through  8f 
much,  when  they  are  not  absolutely  overwhelmed." 


GERTRUDE.  221 


''  And  another  feeling  I  have,"  said  Edith,  "  is,  that  if  anj 
tiling  is  going  to  happen,  I  long  that  it  should  come  at  once.  1 
.hink  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  bear  a  great  calamity,  but  it 
is  the  sitting  still  and  watching  for  it  which  tires  me." 

"  Suspense  is  a  great  temptation  to  impatience,  certainly ;  but 
the  calamity  will  come  soon  enough,  I  suspect.  There  was 
something  in  the  tone  of  the  little  note  Edward  wrote  to  Laura 
yesterday  which  makes  me  think  he  must  be  prepared  for  some 
shock,  and  that  he  is  wishing  to  prepare  her  too." 
,  "Anv  change  would  be  bad  for  her,"  said  Edith.  "To  b« 
obliged  to  reduce,  with  her  habits,  would  half  kill  her." 

"  I  think  you  do  her  injustice,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  she 
has  one  point  of  character,  which  is  every  thing  as  a  founda- 
tion." 

"  Truth  :  yes,  I  acknowledge  that." 

"  And  take  her  from  Miss  Forester,  and  place  her  in  situations 
of  trial,  in  which  others  are  dependent  upon  her,  and  I  am  nearly 
sure  you  would  find  her  very  superior.  Trial  would  strengthen 
her  religious  principles." 

"Religious  principles'."  exclaimed  Edith;  "  she  has  none  :" 
and  then,  shocked  at  her  own  words,  she  began  to  qualify  them  ; 
"  I  mean  that  she  has  never  acted  upon  any.'' 

"  It  is  hard  to  say  that,  when  we  cannot  look  into  the  heart," 
said  Gertrude  ;  "  and  Laura's  candor,  and  good-temper,  and  love 
for  Edward  are,  it  may  be  almost  said,  germs  of  religion.  Very 
weak,  indeed,  and  in  themselves  nothing,  but  showing  that  there 
is  a  good  disposition  to  work  upon." 

Edith  walked  on  for  several  minutes  in  deep  thought.  "  Ger- 
trude," she  said  at  length,  in  a  very  serious  tone,  "I  felt  yester- 
day, when  Laura  was  miserable,  as  if  I  was  the  cause  of  it,  and 
I  was  miserable  too.  I  could  almost  wish  that  the  feeling  would 
continue." 

"  Not  exairo-erated,"  said  Gertrude  :  "  there  can  be  no  good  in 
that." 

"  But,"  said  Edith  ;  "  perhaps  it  is  not  exaggerated.  Per- 
haps I  might  really  have  worked  upon  all  the  good  which  \»\i 
say  is  in  her  character;  and  if  she  had  been  a  different  person, 
Edward  might  have  been  so  too.  I  can  Bpeak  about  it  calmly 
now,  but  I  could  not  have  done  it  last  night,  when  1  lay  awake 
thinking  upon  it." 

"1  am  afraid,"  said  Gertrude,  "even   the  best  of  us  would 
have  something  to  regret,  if  we  were  t"  compare  what  we  h 
done  with  what  we  ought  to  have  done." 

"But  what  should  you  say,"  continued  Edith  J  "do  you  think 
I  have  been  very  much  to  bkime  1" 

"  You  must  remember  that  I  was  away  from  you  ;  how  c;ic 
1 jedge  V 


222  GERTRUDE. 


"  You  can  form  some  idea  ;  you  know  something  of  wha. 
passed  from  what  I  have  told  you.  I  am  sure  you  think  I  have 
done  very  wrong,  and  you  are  afraid  to  say  it." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  if-  you  are  not  afraid  to  hear  it,"  replied 
Gertrude. 

Edith  stopped  suddenly,  and  her  countenance  changed  :  "  I 
did  not  telieve,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  mingled  agitation  and  dis- 
pleasure, "  that  I  was  likely  to  be  of  any  use.  And  there  were 
other  duties  which  I  had  been  accustomed  to  ;  %nd  I  did  not  like 
to  neglect  them." 

"  It  seems  cruel  in  me  to  say  any  thing  at  this  moment,"  re- 
plied Gertrude. 

"  No  one  can  think  it  cruel  to  receive  an  opinion  which  has 
been  asked  for,"  said  Edith,  with  a  little  pique  in  her  manner. 

"  But,  perhaps,  I  implied  more  than  I  ought ;  there  is  such  a 
difference  between  an  error  of  judgment  and  a  wilful  fault ;  and, 
after  all,  it  is  impossible  I  should  be  able  to  decide  how  far  you 
were  right  in  acting  as  you  did." 

"  You  need  not  retract,"  said  Edith,  in  the  same  proud  tone  ; 
"  your  first  words  were  sufficiently  plain." 

"  Plainer  than  I  meant  them  to  be  ;  and  I  am  vexed  with  my- 
self for  using  them,  because  they  have  given  you  a  false  im- 
pression." 

Edith  bit  her  lip,  without  answering,  and  moved  a  few  steps 
towards  the  house  ;  and  then,  as  quickly  returning,  she  exclaim- 
ed, while  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  "  Gertrude,  I  am  very  wrong, 
bu..  you  have  made  me  really  wretched." 

"  If  I  might  only  tell  you,  dearest,  what  I  meant,"  replied 
Gertrude. 

'  But  I  know  it,"  said  Edith.  "  You  mean  that  I  have  been 
ti     cause  of  it  all  :  that  I  might  have  prevented  it." 

'  No,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  not  the  cause,  as  if  there  were 
only  one.  Edward's  own  weakness  has  been  the  cause,  and  his 
hasty  marriage,  and  his  ambition.  There  have  been  many 
causes." 

"  But  I  have  been  one,"  persisted  Edith.  Gertrude  could  not 
leny  it,  and  Edith  was  not  in  a  state  to  listen  to  any  extenuations 
that  might  be  offered. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if  I  had  been  at  Allingham  oftener, 
and  tried  to  please  Laura  more,  perhaps  I  might  have  been  to 
her  what  you  are  now ;  but  she  says  that  I  neglected  her  and 
she  is  right.  And  now  the  time  is  gone,  and  I  can  never  make 
imends." 

"  Do  not  say  that,"  said  Gertrude  ;  but  Edith  interrupted 
her  : 

"  I  must  say  it,  for  it  is  true.  How  can  I  make  amends  now  ! 
Who  can  recall  the  years  that  are  passed,  and  how  can  I  save 


GERTRUDE.  223 


Edward  and  Laura  from  misery  ?  And  when  the  worst  is  come 
and  they  are  ruined — ruined  for  their  whole  lives — how  shall  I 
feel,  when  they  look  back  and  say  I  was  the  cause  of  it  ?" 

"  They  cannot  say  so,"   replied  Gertrude,  gently  ;  "  if  they 
blame  you,  they  must  blame  themselves  far  more." 

"  It  is  no  comfort,"  said  Edith  :  "  do  not  think  of  it,  Gertrude. 
Words  are  useless." 

Gertrude  felt  that  at  such  a  moment  it  was  too  true  :  words 
were  useless.  And  when  Edith  again  walked  away,  though  not 
proudly,  as  before,  she  did  not  attempt  to  follow  her ;  but  leav- 
ing the  torrent  of  excited  feeling  to  exhaust  itself,  before  at- 
tempting to  oTfer  advice  or  consolation,  she  re-entered  the  house 
to  find  her  mother,  and  occupy  herself  with  her  till  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Dacre.  And  now,  as  often  before,  Gertrude  experienced 
the  benefit  of  that  self-control  which  she  habitually  practised. 
With  her  attention  absorbed  by  one  subject  of  anxiety,  she  was 
yet  mindful  of  the  duty  she  had  imposed  on  herself  the  previous 
day  ;  and  Mrs.  Courtenay's  smile  of  pleasure,  as  she  opened 
the  door,  and  told  her  she  had  been  expecting  her,  would  alone 
have  been  a  sufficient  recompense.  But  the  effort,  though  pain- 
ful at  first,  served  to  divert  and  relieve  her  mind  ;  and  when, 
before  she  had  ended,  the  sound  of  a  bell  announced,  as  she  be- 
lieved, Mr.  Dacre's  arrival,  she  scarcely  dreaded  the  interview. 
It  was  not,  however,  Mr.  Dacre.  It  was  a  note  saying  that  he 
should  not  be  able  to  call  at  the  Priory  till  the  afternoon  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  came  a  few  hasty  lines  from  Laura,  begging 
that  Gertrude  would  on  no  account  "delay  going  to  her,  and  add- 
ing, as  a  postscript,  that  the  pony  carriage  had  been  sent,  in  or- 
der that  there  might  be  no  excuse. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  it,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Courtenay  ;  "  but 
it  is  all  right,  of  course  ;  and  do  tell  poor  Laura  to  send  here  for 
any  thing  she  may  want  for  to-morrow  ;  plates,  or  glasses,  or 
knives  and  forks.1' 

Gertrude  could  scarcely  forbear  smiling  at  the  notion  of  Lau- 
ra's knowing  any  thing  about  the  importance  of  providing  such 
humble  necessaries  ;  but  she  did  not  enlighten  her  mother's  mind 
as  to  the  extent  of  her  daughter-in-law's  ignorance  of  domestic 
affairs,  and  only  assured  her  that  there  was  no  doubt  the  house- 
keeper would  ask  for  all  that  was  required. 

"  And  Foster  shall  go  for  you  earlier  to-night,  my  dear,"  added 
Mrs.  Courtenay.  "It  is  bad  for  you  to  sit  up  late,  and  Laura, 
too,  will  have  enough  to  fatigue  her  to-morrow.  So  mind  you 
don't  consent  to  stay  longer  than  ten  o'clock. 

Geitrude  promised  to  attend  to  her  wishes,  and  sel  ofl  ;  leav- 
ing, however,  a  note  to  be  sent  to  Mr.  Dacre, with  a  request  thai 
he  would,  if  possible,  see  her  at  Allingham  in  the  course  of  the 
jay. 


824  GERTRUDE.. 


"  My  mistress  is  in  her  bed-room,  ma'am,"  was  the  informa- 
tion Gertrude  received  upon  alighting  ;  and,  to  judge  fiom  the 
appearance  of  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  a  bed-room  seemed 
likely  to  be  the  only  safe  refuge  from  carpenters,  house- 
maids, and  footmen,  who  were  rushing  to  and  fro  with  chairs, 
and  tables,  carpets,  benches,  and  lamps,  all  in  preparation  for  the 
next  day.  But  Gertrude  moved  on  through  the  confused  mass 
of  furniture  without  overturning  more  than  one  chair,  or  entang- 
ling herself  more  than  twice  with  balls  of  packthread  ;  whilst  she 
felt  a  little  amused  at  the  sudden  transformation  of  the  elegant, 
orderly  house  and  establishment,  though  distressed  at  what  must 
he.  an  additional  expense,  at  the  very  moment  when  economy  was 
above  all  things  needed. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

"  You  see  what  a  state  we  are  in,"  exclaimed  Laura,  with  a 
forced  laugh,  as  she  opened  her  door,  just  in  time  to  save  Ger- 
trude from  being  struck  by  a  long  ladder  which  two  men  were 
carrying  along  the  gallery  :  "  I  have  scarcely  ventured  out  of 
the  room  the  whole  morning,  and  it  has  been  so  lonely." 

"  Has  it,  indeed  ?"  said  Gertrude,  kindly  ;  "  I  thought  you 
would  be  too  busy  to  want  me." 

"  It  would  be  absurd  for  me  to  interfere  much,"  said  Laura  ; 
"  my  housekeeper  understands  every  thing  ;  so  I  give  the  orders 
occasionally,  and  leave  her  to  see  them  executed.  But  you  must 
not  think  that  I  can  never  bear  solitude.  It  is  only  rather  bad 
just  now." 

Gertrude  was  beginning  to  express  regret  for  not  having  been 
with  her  sooner,  but  Laura  stopped  her  :  "  I  cannot  bear  excuses 
from  you,"  she  replied  sadly  ;  "  I  have  no  claim  upon  you,  or 
upon  any  one.  It  is  very  kind  in  you  to  come  at  all,  and  perhaps 
you  will  read  this,  and  help  me  to  decide  what  is  to  be  done  ;" 
and  she  took  up  a  letter  which  lay  on  the  table. 

Gertrude  looked  at  her  sister,  as  she  spoke,  with  deep  com- 
passion. Her  brilliant  complexion  was  faded,  and  almost  sal- 
low ;  her  eyes  were  heavy  and  sunken  ;  her  lips  parched  ;  and 
even  her  dress,  so  generally  admired  for  its  neatness  and  ele- 
gance, seemed  carelessly  thrown  on,  without  any  attempt  at  ar 
rangement.     "  You  know  the  handwriting,"  continued  Laura. 

"  From  Miss  Forester  1" 


GERTRUDE.  225 

"  Yes,  but  I  do  not  understand  much  more  of  all  she  refers  tc 
than  I  did  yesterday." 

Gertrude  received  the  letter  and  began  to  read,  but  found  her 
self  by  no  means  as  much  perplexed  as  Laura.  It  commenced 
with  protestations  of  the  strongest  affection,  which  no  circum- 
stances, however  trying,  could  weaken  ;  it  then  went  on  to  recall 
the  proofs  that  had  been  given  of  sincerity,  hinting  at  enormous 
sacrifices  made,  with  no  hope  of  an  adequate  return  ;  and  de- 
claring that  all  which  had  been  done  was  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  happiness  of  being  of  service  to  one  so  dear.  Then 
followed  mysterious  allusions  to  impending  dangers,  from  which 
there  could  be  no  escape  except  by  Mr.  Courtenay's  following 
General  Forester's  advice  :  and  at  last  came  vehement  entreaties 
that,  in  order  to  save  herself  and  all  around  her  from  misery, 
Laura  would  undertake  to  persuade  her  husband  to  yield  his 
opinion  upon  points  of  no  importance.  The  letter  ended  with 
renewed  protestations  of  affection,  and  as  a  postscript  were  these 
words  :  "  I  have  said  nothing  about  our  own  private  affairs  ;  del- 
icacy forbids  me  to  enter  upon  them  in  detail ;  but  you  will  your- 
self be  the  best  judge  how  far  you  can  venture  to  explain  all  that 
has  passed  to  Mr.  Courtenay,  at  a  moment  when  my  father  knows 
him  to  be  harassed  almost  to  desperation.  Delay  I  fear  is  im- 
possible,  as  my  father  will  no  longer  allow  mailers  to  remain  in 
their  present  state.  I  need  scarcely  say  how  sincerely  I  desire 
that  you  should  promise  to  use  your  influence  in  Dringing  Mr. 
Courtenay  round.  If  his  pledge  were  once  given,  my  father's 
natural  fears  on  my  account  would  be  at  rest,  and  1  should  be 
able  fully  to  indulge  my  own  wishes." 

"What  does  it  mean,  Gertrude  V  said  Laura,  as  her  sister 
laid  the  letter  upon  the  table  with  a  disgust  which  she  scarcely 
endeavored  to  suppress;  "  Is  there  really  any  harm  in  it?" 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  V  replied  Gertrude,  who,  with  all  hei 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  scarcely  understood,  as  yet,  to  what 
extent  a  person  of  Laura's  character  would  he  influenced  by  a 
wish;  "1  do  not,  of  course,  know  all  that  General  Forester 
quires,  but  there  can  be  no  question  of  its  involving  a  sacrifice  ol 
some  honorable  principles." 

"I  don't  see  that,"  said  Laura,  musingly;  "and  Edward 
would  be  happy  again,  if  he  were  out  of  bis  difficulties." 

"  I3ut,  my  dear  Laura,  is  it  a  case  which  concerns  General 
Forester,  or  any  thing  he  has  said  or  done!  If  he  were  lo  offer 
to  settle  every  thing,  without  any  conditions,  could  you  consent  !' 

Laura's  lip' quivered,  and  she  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears. 
"1  thought  of  it  all  last  night,  when  you  were  gone,"  she  an- 
swered, in  a  half-frightened  tone;  "and  I  said  over  to  mysell  all 
that  Edward  would  say,  and  fancied  him  just  opposite  to  me,  lis- 
:cning;  and  afterwards  I  went  '.o   bed,  and  then  it  came  to  mc 


£2(j  GERTRUDE. 


again — the  same  scene  I  had  been  picturing  ;  but  he  was  changed 
He  looked  at  me  as  he  had  never  done  before,  and  he  said  thai 
his  love  was  gone  ;  and  I  threw  myself  before  him,  and  clung  tc 
him,  and  prayed  him  to  forgive,  and  he  spurned  me.  Yes,  Ger- 
trude, he  spurned  me  ;  and  I  know  it  must  be  so."  And  Laura 
leaned  her  head  upon  the  table  in  agony. 

"  And  will  this  save  you,  dearest  ?"  said  Gertrude,  quietly. 
"  When  you  have  gained  your  point,  and  Edward  is  in  posses- 
sion of  all  you  expect,  must  not  the  confession  be  made  ?" 

"  But  the  time  is  distant,"  replied  Laura  ;  "he  will  be  happy, 
and  he  will  not  care." 

"  Happy  that  he  has  been  mistaken  in  his  wife  1  that  she  talk- 
ed to  him,  and  persuaded  him,  apparently  for  his  own  good,  when 
in  reality  she  had  secret  motives  of  her  own  1  Oh  Laura  !  con- 
cealment between  any  friends  is  dangerous — between  a  husband 
and  wife  it  is  certain  misery." 

"  I  would  only  delay,"  said  Laura,  faintly. 

"  And  if  delay  could  save  you  from  suffering,  without  being 
wrong,  can  you  think  that  a  sister  would  not  be  more  willing  to 
help  you  than  Miss  Forester  '?"  Laura  seemed  unable  to  reply  ; 
and  Gertrude,  placing  a  sheet  of  paper  before  her,  and  a  pen  in 
her  hand,  said,  "  It  is  but  the  work  of  a  few  moments,  and  it  may 
be  for  your  happiness  for  years  ;  only  say  that  you  have  resolved 
to  speak  to  Edward." 

Laura  took  up  the  pen  almost  unconsciously;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  burden  upon  her  mind  had  destroyed  her  power  of  self- 
guidance  ;  and  trusting  instinctively  to  Gertrude,  she  wrote  the 
words  which  were  dictated.  But  they  were  no  sooner  ended, 
than  she  drew  her  pen  across  the  paper,  and  casting  it  aside,  rose 
hastily  from  her  seat,  and  walked  the  room. 

"Go,  Gertrude,"  she  said;  "you  have  done  all  that  was  in 
your  power,  and  it  is  vain.  Why  should  you  distress  yourself 
more  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude,  firmly  ;  "  it  cannot,  and  must  not  be 
in  vain.  The  decision  is  to  be  made  now,  and  if  you  will  not 
follow  me,  vou  must  follow  Miss  Forester.  Will  you  write  and 
tell  her  so  f" 

Laura  looked  hopelessly  around,  as  if  seeking  some  means  of 
escape. 

"  Will  you  bind  yourself  to  her,"  continued  Gertrude,  "to  be 
her  friend  and  companion — to  have  her  with  you  always — to  risk 
even  Edward's  annoyance,  rather  than  her  anger  !  And  will  you 
consent  to  feel  that  General  Forester  knows  more  of  your  pri- 
vate affairs  than  your  husband,  and  that  at  any  moment  he  may 
betray  you  ?" 

"  And  can  you  be  cruel,  too,  Gertrude  V  exclaimed  Laura  ; 
"  then  my  last  hope  is  gone." 


GERTRUDE.  22? 


"  Not  cruel,  dearest,"  replied  Gertrude,  earnestly;  'but  mer- 
ciful— most  merciful ;  for  I  would  save  you  from  years  of  sutler- 
ng." 

"  And  at  what  price  1"  continued  Laura.  "  You  talk  to  me 
.n  ignorance,  for  you  cannot  understand  my  feelings." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  I  cannot !"  replied  Gertrude.  "  Do 
you  think  I  cannot  tell  what  you  will  feel  when  you  have  placed 
yourself  in  Miss  Forester's  power,  and  how  you  will  shrink  from 
Edward's  love  and  confidence,  and  how  bitterly  you  will  repent 
paving  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  this  moment  ?" 

Laura  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  again  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
from  her  desk,  and  recommenced  her  note  ;  but  she  had  only 
written  the  first  words  when  it  was  once  more  put  aside.  "  It  is 
useless  to  write,"  she  said  ;  "  I  know  she  will  call  by-and-by,  and 
I  will  see  her." 

"  The  note  may  prevent  her  calling,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  Laura, 
why  will  you  delay  !  If  you  are  grieved  at  having  deceived  him, 
why  will  you  not  take  the  first  step  towards  truth  1" 

Laura  shook  her  head,  but  made  no  attempt  to  write  ;  and 
Gertrude,  vexed  and  disappointed,  moved  away  from  the  table, 
when  a  sound  of  footsteps  oa  the  stairs  caught  her  ears. 

"  tihe  is  coming,"  exclaimed  Laura,  in  a  feeble  voice  of  terror, 
and  she  sank  into  a  chair.  Gertrude  ran  to  the  door  and  locked 
it  ;  then  returning,  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  seated  herself  hy 
Liura's  side,  while  her  whole  frame  trembled  with  agitation, — 

•■  You  said  to  me  yesterday  that  you  would  promise  ;  and  I 
would  not  take  your  promise;  but  now,  if  you  have  ever  loved 
me,  you  will  give  it." 

Laura  raised  herself  in  her  chair,  and  with  a  look  of  anguish 
her  eye  rested  upon  her  husband's  picture. 

"  Remember, "  said  Gertrude,  as  she  watched  the  expression 
of  her  countenance  :  "  there  is  but  one  moment ;  it  is  a  decision 
between  confidence  in  him  whose  every  thought,  whose  whole 
heart  is  yours,  or  in  Miss  Forester.     Laura,  you  must  promise.1 

Laura  threw  herself  upon  her  sister's  neck,  and  whispered,  "  I 
will  promise,  but  I  cannot  see  her." 

••  It.  shall  be  my  duty,"  said  Gertrude,  rising.  "  Go  into  the 
dressing-room,  and  trust  in  me  to  say  and  do  all  that  is  neo 

Laura  left  the  room;  and  Gertrude,  unlocking  tin;  dour,  ad- 
mitted Miss  Forester.  There  was  a  .str.rt  of  surprise  at  the 
meeting,  followed  by  an  expression  of  pleasure;  for  Mi  i  ores- 
'er,  on  the  same  principle  which  induces  a  child  to  etroke  a  mas- 
tiff, was  always  lavish  of  her  ci\  ilities  in  proportion  to  her  awe  ; 
and  .she  had  long  since  discovered  that  Gertrude  was  not  to  I"' 
deal*,  with  as  an  ordinary  person. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  intruding,"  she  said,  as  she  looked  in  vair 
for  Laura:  "I  was  told  I  should  find  Mrs.  Courtenaj  here." 


228  GERTRUDE. 


"  My  sister  has  been  here,"  said  Gertrude,  with  an  emphasis 
upon  the  word  sister,  which  served  to  remind  her  visiter  that  ic 
Laura's  house  she  had  more  right  than  a  friend  to  feel  at  home  : 
"  but  she  is  not  able  to  see  any  person  just  now,  and  I  must  ask 
you  to  excuse  her  coming  to  you." 

"  Oh  certainly,  if  it  is  necessary.  I  should  have  supposed, 
though,  that  Mrs.  Courtenay  would  have  made  an  exception  in 
my  favor.     Is  she  so  very  busy  .'" 

"  Not  busy,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  but  she  is  desirous  of  being 
alone.     Can  I  be  of  any  service  in  taking  a  message  to  her  V 

"  I  think  she  would  admit  me,  if  she  knew  I  was  here,"  replied 
Miss  Forester,  stealing  on  tip-toe  to  the  dressing-room  door  ;  but 
Gertrude  dexterously  placed  herself  before  it. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  prevent  you,"  she  said  ;  "  but  quiet  is  so  essen- 
tial to  my  sister,  that  I  cannot  allow  her  to  be  disturbed." 

A  frown  gathered  on  Miss  Forester's  brow,  but  her  tones  in- 
creased in  gentleness,  as  she  replied,  "  Indeed  !  I  am  so  grieved 
to  hear  it.  How  long  has  she  been  so  unwell  ]  It  must  be 
quite  a  sudden  seizure." 

"  It  is  no  seizure,"  said  Gertrude,  coolly  ;  "  but  she  has  had 
a  good  deal  to  think  of  this  morning." 

"  Ah  yes  !  all  the  arrangements  for  this  grand  party  ;  but  she 
is  so  energetic  about  every  thing.  I  am  afraid  she  has  worried 
herself,  without  waiting  for  me  to  come  and  help  her,  as  I  pro- 
mised. Between  ourselves,  my  dear  Miss  Courtenay,  she  is  like 
many  other  lovely  young  creatures  of  her  age, — not  at  all  pru- 
dent. 1  saw  a  great  deal  of  it  when  we  were  in  town  lately, 
and  when  we  go  up  again,  I  intend  to  keep  a  strict  watch  upon 
her." 

'•  Thank  you,"  said  Gertrude,  politely  ;  "  but  with  regard  to 
her  occupations  to-day,  the  housekeeper  manages  every  thing  so 
well,  there  is  scarcely  any  necessity  for  Laura's  interference. 
She  has  been  engaged  this  morning  upon  rather  a  different  sub- 
ject— this  letter — "  and  she  pointed  to  the  lengthy  epistle  which 
lay  upon  the  table.  Miss  Forester  glanced  at  it,  and  turned 
pale  ;  and  then  glanced  a  second  time,  and  colored  ;  and  stretch- 
ing out  her  hand  to  take  it,  said,  with  a  faint  laugh, — 

"  Oh  !  that — it  is  not  a  matter  of  any  consequence  ;  to-morrow 
will  do  just  as  well." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Gertrude,  "but  my  sister  is  of 
opinion  that  no  day  can  be  like  the  present  for  business  of  this 
kind  ;  and  being  unable  to  undertake  it  herself,  she  has  begged 
me  to  arrange  it  tor  her." 

"  Certainly — if  you  will — no  one  more  competent "  began 

Miss  Forester,  and  then  stopped  in  confusion. 

"  She  would  be  sorry,"  continued  Gertrude,  "  for  either  Gen 
eral  Forester  or  yourself  to  be  misled  as  to  her  intentions." 


GERTRUDE.  229 


4i  My  father  would  be  unwilling:  to  hurry  Mrs.  Courtenay," 
said  Miss  Forester,  "  but — I  may  speak  plainly,  I  see,  to  you, 
my  dear  Miss  Courtenay ;  it  is  a  very  awkward  business." 

"  Particularly  so,"  replied  Gertrude,  in  a  tone  which  Miss 
Forester  did  not  entirely  like  or  understand.  "  If  you  will  do 
me  the  favor  to  listen  for  a  few  minutes,"  continued  Gertrude. 
"  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  put  things  on  a  better  footing. 
With  regard  to  my  brothers  opinions,  General  Forester  must 
judge  for  himself  how  far  it  is  right  to  urge  any  gentleman 
,under  any  circumstances  to  profess  a  change  without  conviction. 
It  is  a  political  affair  with  which  my  sister  has  no  desire  to  inter- 
meddle." 

"  Oh  yes,  very  right,  quite  natural ;  but  my  father  is  so  devo- 
ted to  Mr.  Courtenay's  interests — so  anxious  for  his  welfare, — • 
Mrs.  Courtenay  may  safely  trust  him,"  said  Miss  Forester,  evi- 
dently much  piqued. 

"  Possibly,"  said  Gertrude,  quietly  ;  "  but  in  the  present 
instance  there  is  no  necessity  for  trusting  to  any  one.  Laura 
would  have  spoken  to  my  brother  this  morning  if  he  had  beer 
at  home,  as  she  is  desirous  that  you  should  no  longer  be  incon- 
venienced by  the  assistance  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  give 
her.  In  my  brother's  absence,  perhaps  my  check  will  be 
equally  satisfactory."  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Ger- 
trude seated  herself  at  the  table,  wrote  an  order  for  six  hundred 
pounds,  and  put  it  into  Miss  Forester's  hands.  It  was  received 
mechanically.  For  the  first  time  for  many  years  Miss  Forester 
was  sensible  of  shame; — she  felt  that  Gertrude  knew  her. 

'•It  is  correct,  I  believe,"  said  Gertrude,  rising.  "Perhaps 
you  will  do  my  sister  the  favor  also  to  return  the  different  bills 
of  her  London  tradespeople,  which  you  have  had  the  goodness 
to  keep." 

"  1,  really— I  did  not  wish— I  scarcely  expected,"— stammered 
Miss  Forester:  '"I  should  be  so  sorry  to  give  Mrs.  Courtenay 
any  additional  trouble  just  now." 

"Pray   do   not  distress  yourself,"   said   Gertrude.     "It   will 

involve  no  trouble  to  my  sister  ;   she  rely  wishes  my  brother 

to  see  them  when  he  returns."  Miss  Forester's  keen  face  ex- 
pressed incredulous  surprise,  but  Gertrude  did  not  choose  to 
explain  farther  than  was  necessary.  "  Perhaps,"  Bhe  said,  in  a 
lone  winch,  notwithstanding  her  native  humility,  was  tinged 
with  hauteur,  "you  will  also  he  kind  enough  to  say  to  General 
Forester,  that  my  sister  prefers  leaving  to  him  the  task  ol  per- 
suading her  husband  to  profess  a  change  ofpr iples.     She  haa 

neither  the  inclination  nor  the  power  to  attempt  it  herself.  ' 

Miss  Forester  looked  things  unutterable;  but  a-  she  at- 
tempted  to  speak  them,  her  spun  quailed  before  the  calm,  purt 
dignity  of  Gertrude's  manner.     Something  she  murmured   <>t 


230  GERTRUDE. 


interests,  and  wilfulness,  and  regret,  but  the  sentence  was  lost 
in  confusion,  as  her  eye  met  Gertrude's  searching  glance,  fixed 
as  if  she  could  read  her  inmost  thoughts  ;  and,  thrusting  the 
check  into  her  reticule,  she  turned  away  and  glided  from  the 
room,  without  appearing  to  notice  Gertrude's  civility,  when  she 
hastened  to  open  the  door,  and  politely  wished  her  good  morn- 
ing. Gertrude  listened  to  her  retreating  footsteps,  and  when 
the  hall  door  was  closed  against  her,  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if 
relieved  from  a  great  oppression.  The  first  act  of  the  sacrifice 
she  expected  would  be  required  had  been  made,  but  she  did  not 
for  an  instant  regret  it.  Laura  was  saved  from  temptation  ; 
and  if  Edward's  affairs  were  prosperous,  the  obligation  would 
soon  be  repaid ;  if  not,  the  experience  of  that  morning  had  left 
but  little  doubt  upon  her  mind  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued. 
And  now,  her  first  impulse  was  to  go  instantly  to  Laura,  and 
tell  her  she  was  free  from  Miss  Forester's  snares  ;  but  a  little 
consideration  checked  her.  When  she  had  once  owned  what 
had  been  done,  it  would  be  difficult  to  insist  upon  Laura's  keep- 
ing her  promise,  since  it  might  appear  that  she  had  a  personal 
interest  for  urging  it ;  and  though  Laura's  word  had  Deen 
given,  Gertrude  still  felt  doubtful  whether,  when  the  moment 
for  confession  came,  she  would  not  make  some  excuse  for  put- 
ting it  off.  Yet  it  was  a  difficult  resolution  to  keep,  when,  as 
she  entered  the  dressing-room,  Laura  sprang  from  the  sofa  and 
entreated  to  be  told  all  that  had  passed.  Gertrude  gazed  with 
pity  upon  the  countenance  once  so  full  of  happiness,  now  so 
marked  by  sorrow,  and  longed,  as  she  had  seldom  longed  be- 
fore, to  act  against  her  knowledge  of  what  was  right.  One 
smile,  such  as  Laura  had  given  in  brighter  hours,  would  have 
repaid  and  satisfied  her ;  hut  the  time  was  not  arrived  ;  and 
Gertrude,  though  with  an  effort  known  only  to  herself,  could  be 
as  firm  in  inflicting  pain,  as  she  was  gentle  in  soothing  suffer- 
ing. A  few  words  of  explanation  were  soon  given.  Gertrude 
merelv  thought  it  necessary  to  say  that  she  had  told  Miss  For- 
ester that  Laura  declined  interfering  in  political  affairs,  and  in- 
tended upon  Edward's  return  to  take  some  steps  for  (he  imme- 
diate settlement  of  her  affairs  ;  and  Laura,  although  she  felt 
frightened  at  being  thus  bound  to  her  promise,  without  the  pos- 
sibility of  delay,  seemed  in  a  degree  more  satisfied.  Edward's 
displeasure  was  indeed  inevitable,  but  she  was  no  longer  called 
upon  to  struggle  against  her  own  failing  resolution  ;  and  Ger- 
trude, trusting  that  she  would  now  be  able  to  take  a  little  rest 
ersuaded  her  to  lie  down,  and  left  her. 


GERTRUDE.  231 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

And  rest  Gertrude  required  herself,  but  more  for  the  mind 
than  the  body  ;  and  hoping  to  find  refreshment  in  solitude  and 
the  open  air,  she  wandered  into  the  park.  On  other  occasions, 
the  beauty  of  nature  had  never  failed  to  sooth  her  in  her  great- 
est uneasiness  ;  but  on  this  day  its  influence  was  gone.  There 
were  dark  shadows  passing  over  the  distant  hills,  and  thin  lines 
of  blue  smoke  curling  upwards  from  cottages  half  hidden  by 
trees  ;  and  the  sunlight  rested  upon  the  tall  spire  of  Elsham 
church,  as  it  stood  with  its  "  silent  finger"  pointing  to  the  sky  ; 
and  before  her  spread  the  greensward  sprinkled  with  wild 
flowers,  and  parted  into  dells  and  glades  by  the  inequality  of 
the  ground,  and  the  varied  masses  of  ocJis  and  beeches,  the 
growth  of  years  gone  by.  But  Gertrude  looked  at  all  with  a 
saddened  heart.  She  seated  herself  on  the  trunk  of  a  splendid 
tree,  which  had  been  one  of  the  finest  in  her  brother's  posses- 
sion, but  which  now  lay  leafless  and  prostrate,  and  closed  her 
eyes,  striv'ng  to  forget,  if  possible,  a  beauty  associated  with  so 
much  earthly  care.  But  care  still  haunted  her — thoughts  of 
Edward,  and  his  talents,  and  his  influence  and  station,  and  the 
account  which  must  one  day  be  required  of  him  ;  and  shrinking 
from  the  prospect,  she  raised  her  head,  and  turning  involuntarily 
from  the  lovely  landscape  before  her,  looked  up  into  the  clear 
blue  sky.  It  was  the  faint  image  of  heaven, — taintless  and  un- 
changeable ;  and  Gertrude  dwelt  upon  its  purity,  and  strove  to 
pierce  into  its  depths,  as  if  seeking  to  reach  that  home  of  peace, 
where  her  spirit  longed  to  be.  For  she  felt  that  the  struggle  of 
life  was  beginning.  Hitherto  the  current  of  her  existence  had 
flowed  smoothly  and  tranquilly,  unmarked  by  sorrow  except  in 
the  one  first  grief,  which  hail  left  little  but  peace  behind  it. 
But  those  unruffled  days  were  now  vanishing.  She  was  to  feel, 
and  act,  and  judge;  to  bear  with  others'  sufferings, — to  stand 
prepared  lor  any  duty;  and  though  she  had  long  looked  for- 
ward to  the  day  of  trial,  there  was  a  natural  failing  of  tie-  heart 
at  the  first  perception  that  it  was  near.  And  it  is  a  Inner  con- 
sciousness— (none  can  tell  how  bitter  but  those  to  whom  it  has 
been  given) — when  we  are  awakened  from  our  youthful  dream 

of  happiness  by  some  stern   reality,  and    know  that   li hen 

ferth  it  may  never  be  indulged  again — when    an    all-powerful 


232  GERTRUDE. 


though  al\  merciful  hand  has  passed  over  the  beautiful  vision 
we  so  fondly  cherished,  and  its  dazzling  colors  have  faded  be- 
neath the  touch,  and  we  see  that  the  form  is  the  same,  but  the 
lustre  can  never  be  recalled.  We  may  have  thought  that  oui 
minds  are  ready  for  the  change, — we  may  have  pictured  it  to  our- 
selves, and  sorrowed  for  the  inevitable  hour,  and  even  prayed  fo- 
strength  to  bear  it, — but  the  experience  of  one  real  grief  will 
teach  us  what  no  preparation  will  impart.  It  will  show  us  our 
own  weakness,  and  the  vastness  of  that  mercy  which  stooped  tc 
share  a  nature  endowed  with  such  capacities  for  suffering.  It 
will  force  us  to  look  upon  the  unknown  future  with  a  chastened 
and  a  thoughtful  eye  ;  and  whilst  it  bids  us  bear  thankfully  in  our 
hearts  the  remembrance  of  our  early  joy,  as  the  type  granted  us 
by  God  of  the  blessings  reserved  for  us  in  heaven,  it  will  tell  us 
that  from  henceforth  the  warfare  of  human  life  must  be  ours  ;  and 
that,  till  the  grave  has  closed  upon  our  heads,  we  may  hope  but 
for  few  intervals  of  rest. 

And  so  it  was  with  Gertrude.  Till  within  the  last  two  days 
she  had  never  known  the  value  of  the  unanxious  life  which  she 
had  hitherto  led.  Not  that  a  mind  like  hers  could  be  insen- 
sible to  mercies,  or  blind  to  the  possibility  of  losing  them  ;'  but 
her  anticipations  of  the  future  had  been  vague  and  unreal, 
and  from  principle  she  had  never  suffered  herself  to  dwell 
upon  them.  And  now,  almost  without  warning,  trial  seemed 
near  at  hand,  and  in  the  form  most  at  variance  with  her  own 
disposition.  She  could  think,  and  repent,  and  amend  for  her- 
self; but  Edward  was  beyond  her  reach,  except  through  that 
privilege  of  intercession,  the  power  of  which  we  so  little  un- 
derstand ;  and  to  some  minds,  the  sufferings  of  others  are  far 
more  dreadful  than  any  personal  sorrow.  Sad,  however,  as 
Gertrude's  meditations  were,  she  felt  that  as  yet  she  did  not 
comprehend  all  that  it  might  be  required  of  her  to  bear.  There 
was  siill  much  cause  to  hope  that  her  fears  might  be  unfounded  ; 
and  in  a  calmer  frame  of  mind  she  would  have  reproached 
herself  for  giving  way  to  what  might  be  a  causeless  dread  ; 
but  in  her  present  excited  state, — feverish  from  wearying 
thought,  and  want  of  sleep,  and  the  agitation  of  the  morning — ■ 
it  seemed  that  the  worst  reality  would  be  preferable  to  the 
wretcheuness  of  apprehension.  It  was  a  morbid  state  of  mind 
— most  unusual  and  painful  ;  and  Gertrude  had  indulged  it  only 
for  a  few  minutes  when  she  was  conscious  that  it  was  wrong. 
She  tried  to  bring  her  mind  to  the  right  temper  of  unhesitating 
faith,  and  was  striving  to  collect  her  thoughts  to  pray  for  a  spirit 
more  in  accordance  with  the  will  of  God,  when  an  approaching 
footstep  startled  her  ;  and  she  turned  and  saw  Mr.  Dacre  com- 
ing towards  her.  Gertrude  rose,  and  was  about  to  utter  an 
exclamation  of  pleasure  ;  but  the  words  died  upon  her  lips  a* 


GERTRUDE.  233 


she  saw  the  expression  of  his  countenance.  It  was  grave  and 
sad — far  more  than  usual ;  the  lines  of  care  more  rigidly  marked, 
and  the  anxiety  of  his  mind  revealed  by  the  frown  upon  his  fore- 
head, and  the  compression  of  his  lips. 

"  I  have  frightened  you,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  tone,  observing 
that  Gertrude  did  not  speak  :  "  I  was  told  you  were  walking  in 
this  direction,  and  I  knew  you  were  wishing  to  see  me." 

"  Thank  vou,  yes,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  aed  she  reseated  her- 
self on  the  fallen  tree,  for  her  knees  trembled  so  that  she  was  un- 
able to  stand. 

Mr  Dacre  looked  at  her  with  compassion.  "  You  have  been 
exerting  yours'elf  too  much,"  he  said  ;  "and  you  are  ill." 

Gertrude  shook  her  head,  and  endeavoring  to  recover  herself, 
said  faintly,  "  It  was  very  kind  in  you  to  come  so  far." 

"  Onlv  a  morning's  walk,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre  :  "and  perhaps 
our  meeting  will  be  better  here  than  elsewhere  ;  it  will  be  less 
liable  to  interruption." 

Gertrude  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  as  they  met,  unable 
longer  to  endure  suspense,  she  exclaimed  :  " If  you  have  any 
thing  to  tell  me,  I  would  hear  it  now.  at  once — only  speak." 

"And  might  I  not  say  the  same  V  he  replied  :  "  I  came  at 
your  request." 

"  My  request!"  exclaimed  Gertrude  ;  for  in  the  confusion  of 
her  feelings  she  felt  a  difficulty  in  recalling  all  that  had  been  in 
her  mind. 

"Yes;  and  I  hoped  you  were  going  to  mention. some  way  in 
which  I  might  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  Edward "  began  Gertrude,  and  then  paused,    scarcely 

knowing  how  to  introduce  the  subject  of  her  fears. 

"  MrrCourtenay  is  absent,  I  know,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre. 
"  He  is  in  London,  on  business." 

"  But  is  he  well  ?  have  you  heard  any  thing  ]  will  he  return 
to-morrow  !" 

"I  have  heard  nothing  of  his  movements,"  was  the  reply; 
"but  the  dissolution  of  Parliament  is  hourly  expected  :  will  not 
that  account  for  his  sudden  journey]"  His  voice  was  Steady, 
but  his  manner  was  agitated ;  and  Gertrude  said,  firmly, — 

"  It  is  useless  to  attempt  reserve  ;  there  can  be  but  one  cause 
of  uneasiness  where  Edward  is  concerned.  Yon  have  heard,  I 
am  sure,  the  reports  that  are  abroad,  and  you  know  that  they  ar6 
well  founded." 

"I  have  just  left  Mr.  Rivers,"  replied  Mr.  1>  v  grave- 

ly ;  "  and  therefore  I  cannot  be  totally  ignorant." 

"And  you  can  tell  me,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  while  the  coloi 
rushed  to  her  pale  cheek  :  "Is  it  what  they  gay  !  Has  Kdward 
indeed  been  acting  so  blindly  ?" 


234  GERTRUDE. 


"  I  will  tell  you  all  that  I  know,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  it  ii 
right  you,  at  least,  should  be  prepared  lor  what  must  in  all  proba- 
bility soon  come." 

"  At  least,"  thought  Gertrude  ;  and  she  mechanically  repeated 
the  words  to  herself. 

"  Mr.  Courtenay  has  acted  blindly,  indeed,"  pursued  Mr. 
Dacre  ;  "  but  we  must  be  careful  in  our  condemnation.  He  has 
done  but  what  thousands  have  done  before  him,  and  perhaps  with 
less  excuse.  The  chief  object  now  must  be  to  prevent  him  from 
engaging  in  another  election.     It  would  be  madness.". 

"  But  is  there  nothing  to  rest  on  1 — no  hope  of  retrieving  V  ex- 
claimed Gertrude.     "  If  I  could  but  know  the  worst !" 

"  It  is  soon  told  ;  and  I  see  that  it  will  be  no  kindness  to  keep 
it  from  you.  If  any  thing  could  have  been  done  to  stay  the  evil, 
I  hope  I  need  not  say  to  you  who  would  have  been  most  anxious 
to  assist ;  but  in  the  present  condition  of  your  brother's  property, 
his  best  friends  cannot  aid  him." 

"  But  not  for  the  present,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  eagerly, — 
"  not  to  save  him  from  a  great  temptation  V 

Mr.  Dacre  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  continued,  and  she  bent  her  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  for  she  was  about  to  speak  against  those  who  were 
among  his  nearest  connections :  "  I  fear  that  what  I  say  may 
displease  you  ;  but  surely  Edward's  friends  are  guilty  of  a  griev- 
ous error  in  urging  him  to  pledge  himself  to  them  against  his 
own  convictions,  and  offering  to  reward  him  by  an  appoint- 
ment." 

"  Indeed  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Dacre.  "  I  have 
heard  nothing  of  this, — who  is  your  authority  V 

"  Laura,  and  General  Forester,"  replied  Gertrude,  hesitating, 
as  she  pronounced  the  last  name. 

Mr.  Dacre  started, — every  muscle  of  his  countenance  seemed 
working  with  repressed  indignation,  and  broken  exclamations  of 
"  base  !"  "  mean  !"  "  dishonorable  !"  escaped  him,  notwithstanding 
his  utmost  efforts  to  be  calm.  At  length  he  said,  as  he  leant 
for  support  against  a  neighboring  tree,  "  You  may  tell  me  all. 
General  Forester's  opinions  and  mine,  I  know,  are  very  dif- 
ferent." 

"  It  is  but  little  that  I  have  to  tell,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  The 
offer  has  been  made,  and  General  Forester  has  been  strenuous  in 
urging  it,  and  hitherto  Edward  has  refused  it.  I  have  known 
this  only  within  the  last  two  days  ;  but  when  I  was  told  of  it  I 
was  told  also  of  his  embarrassments,  and  then  it  was  that  I  be- 
came alarmed  lest  he  should  yield." 

"  And  do  they  really  think,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dacre,  vehement- 
ly, "  that  any  cause  will  prosper  when  such  means  are  used  i« 


GERTRUDE.  235 


promote  it  1  And  if  they  were  to  bind  your  brother  to  them  as 
they  desire,  what  recompense  could  they  offer  to  him  in  re- 
turn ?" 

"  They  would  save  him  from xuin,"  said  Gertrude,  and 

her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke. 

"  Do  not  believe   it,"  replied  Mr.   Dacre,  gently,  but  very 

gravely,  as  he  seated  himself  by  her  side  ;  "  It  is  better  that  such 

a  delusion  should  be  taken  from  you  at  once.     Your  brother 

may  think — possibly  he  does  think — that  there  is  hope  ;  but  there 

,is  none.     If  now  the  whole  of  his  property  were  sold  he  might 

be  freed  from  his  difficulties,  but  he  would  be  left without 

resource." 

Gertrude  felt  paralyzed.  Miserable  as  her  suspicions  had  been, 
they  yet  fell  short  of  the  reality. 

"  If  3'ou  knew — if  you  could  imagine,"  continued  Mr.  Dacre, 
"  the  bitter  pain  of  being  the  first  to  open  your  eyes — but  it  may 
save  you  all  from  worse  suffering.  Let  him  pause  now,  and  no 
one  will  dare  to  lift  up  a  finger  of  reproach  against  him.  Anoth- 
er year,  spent  as  the  preceding  ones  have  been,  and  his  loss  may 
involve  the  sufferings  of  many  others." 

"  And  does  he  know  this  ?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  "  he  knows  it  as  far  as  words  can 
make  him  acquainted  with  it ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  does  not  real- 
ize it.  This  morning  I  went  to  Mr.  Rivers,  in  consequence  of 
the  report  which  had  reached  me,  for  I  hoped  it  might  have  been 
in  my  power  to  do  some  good  ;  and  he  then  told  me  that  for  many 
months  he  had  been  endeavoring  to  force  the  truth  upon  him,  es- 
pecially since  the  election  had  been  thought  probable.  Yester- 
day morning,  when  the  dissolution  was  announced  as  certain, 
your  brother  went  to  make  some  inquiries,  preparatory  to  coming 
forward  a  second  time  ;  and  when  the  hopeless  condition  of  his 
affairs  was  at  last  put  beyond  doubt,  he  gave  no  hint  of  his  in- 
tentions, but  started  immediately  for  London." 

"  Then  it  is  done,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  clasping  her  hands  in 
agony  :  "  Oh  that  he  had  been  spared  the  trial !" 

Mr.  Dacre  scarcely  knew  how  to  reply. 

"  You  believe  it  is  so,"  continued  Gertrude,  raising  her  eyes 
to  his  face,  with  an  expression  of  calm  wretchedness  which  was 
more  touching  than  any  words;  "  or  perhaps,"  she  added,  in  a 
voice  so  faint  that  it  almost  died  intc  a  whisper, — "  perhaps  you 
are  certain  of  it  1" 

"  No,  no,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dacre,  eagerly,  "  I  am  net 
certain  of  it.  I  am  totally  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  bis  sudden 
•ourney." 

"  But  can  you  not  follow  him  ?  Can  you  not  save  him  '  Cm 
no  one  warn  him  1"' 

M  It  is  too  late, — he  is  to  return  to-morrow." 


236  GERTRUDE. 


"  Dishonor  !'"  murmured  Gertrude  to  herself,  in  a  low  bitter 
tone. 

"  There  is  hope,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  ;  "  we  must  think  of  that. 
The  temptation  is  less  than  you  imagine — at  least  if  he  should 
allow  himself  to  reason.  It  may  be  delay,  but  it  cannot  be  es- 
cape." 

"  God  grant  that  he  may  see  it,"  said  Gertrude,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief;  "  it  may  all  be  borne  but  that  :  and  when  he  had  done  it 
he  would  never  know  happiness  again." 

"  No  ;  and  it  is  the  knowledge  of  this  which  may  give  us  hope 
that  he  will  pause.  His  high  sense  of  honor  is  not  often  to  be 
met  with." 

"  And  ir  he  is  firm,"  said  Gertrude,  "the  alternative  is  ruin." 

"  The  world  would  call  it  so,  but  you  will  not." 

"  You  are  right,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  eagerly  :  "  there  can 
be  no  ruin  where  there  is  no  dishonor.  If  I  could  know  that 
Edward  were  saved  from  that  snare,  I  think  I  could  see  Ailing- 
ham  a  desert,  and  scarcely  consider  it  a  trial." 

Mr.  Dacre  gazed  on  her  with  sorrow,  for  he  knew  that  she  was 
little  aware  of  her  own  feelings ;  and  the  next  moment  Gertrude's 
mind  had  turned  from  herself  to  one  who  would  be  a  far  greater 
sufferer.  "  Laura !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  anguish,  and 
unbidden  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 

"  Do  not  think,"  said  Mr.  Dacre, — "  if  it  is  possible,  do  not 
think.  There  must  soon  be  trial  on  every  side  of  you  ;  but  if 
you  dwell  upon  it,  you  may  be  prevented  from  alleviating  it." 

"  And  can  it  be  alleviated  ?"  exclaimed  Gertrude  ;  "  is  it  in  my 
power]     Tell  me  quickly,  for  it  will  he  my  only  comfort." 

Mr.  Dacre  looked  towards  the  hamlet  on  the  heath,  the  dark 
cottages  of  which  were  at  that  moment  touched  by  the  lustre  of 
the  mid-day  sun  ;  and  Gertrude  felt  the  direction  of  his  eyes, 
though  she  had  not  followed  it. 

"  Do  not  fear  to  speak,"  she  said,  gently  ;  "  I  have  already 
thought  of  it.  It  was  a  bright  dream,  but  I  was  not  worthy  of 
it ;  and  it  is  over." 

"  And  can  you  indeed  relinquish  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  with 
mingled  pity  and  reverence  :  "  shall  you  have  no  regrets — no 
doubts  ?" 

"  Regrets  !"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  mournfully.  "  It  was  the 
vision  of  my  happiest  days — the  charm  of  my  solitary  hours.  Il 
lias  kept  me  from  so  many  vain  and  evil  thoughts,  that  it  has 
seemed  as  a  guardian  angel  sent  to  chase  from  my  heart  every 
earthly  feeling ;  and  I  thought  that  it  was  blest  by  God  ;  but  his 
ways  are  best,  and  I  must  learn  to  think  so." 

"  You  will  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  ;  and  he  took  her  hand 
affectionately  ;  "  the  bitterness  of  this  moment  will  pass — not,  it 
may  be,  soon — not  entirely  for  years  ;  but  it  will  pass  ;  and  when 


GERTRUDE.  237 

you  look  back  upon  it,  you  will  own  how  great  has  been  the 
mercy  which  has  taught  you,  in  your  youth,  to  sacrifice  your 
purest  wishes  without  murmuring." 

"  And  now,"  said  Gertrude,  "  tell  me  what  I  must  do.  You 
say  that  I  cannot  save  Edward." 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre.  "  His  only  safety  will  be  in  giving 
op  Allingham  immediately." 

Poor  Gertrude  shrank  from  a  truth  which  she  had  not  ven- 
tured before  to  utter,  even  to  herself.  "  His  home  !"  she  said, 
and  her  eyes  wandered  over  the  beautiful  park,  and  rested  upon 
the  splendid  colonnade,  which  was  seen  as  the  termination  of  a 
long  vista  of  trees. 

"  It  will  be  a  heavy  trial,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  but  who  would 
not  rather  leave  his  home  with  honor  than  live  in  it  with  self-re- 
proach]" 

"And  where  will  he  go  V  exclaimed  Gertrude,  overwhelmed 
iy  the  prospect  which  was  opening  before  her — "  how  will  he 
support  himself?  he  will  never  consent  to  be  dependent  upon 
us." 

"  The  usual  resource  is  a  residence  in  a  foreign  country." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  "  he  cannot  do  that.  His 
life  would  be  without  object — he  would  be  miserable,  and  his 
talents  would  be  wasted." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  as  I  do.  There  arc  indeed  grave  rea- 
sons against  leaving  our  natural  duties,  though  there  may  be 
cases  in  which  it  is  necessary  ;  but  I  do  not  see  that  your  bro- 
ther's is  one.     His  profession  is  still  open  to  him." 

"  If  he  would  return  to  it,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  while  a  feel- 
ing of  hope  lighted  up  her  countenance  ;  but  it  died  as  quickly  as 
it  had  been  excited.  "  Who  will  persuade  him  to  do  it!"  she 
added. 

'•  That  must  be  your  duty.  He  will  not  bear  the  idea  at  first, 
for  he  will  feel  that  he  is  exposing  himself  to  public  observation ; 
but  if  he  should  consent,  you ." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gertrude,  interrupting  him  ;  "  I  see  it  now.  If 
my  fortune  were  Edward's  he  would  begin  life  a  second  time 
with  comfort.  But  you  do  not  know  him — he  will  never  listen 
to  the  offer." 

"  I  do  not  know  him  as  you  do,  yet  I  think  if  it  is  in  the  pow- 
er of  any  human  bein«r  to  induce  bim,  it  will  be  in  yours. 

"  He  is  proud,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  he  will  Bhrink  from  the 
'dea  of  obligation." 

"  Not  so  much  to  a  member  of  his  own  family— and  you  must 
remember  the  proposal  may  be  made  as  a  loan,  not  as  -i  gift. 

Gertrude  thought  for  a  moment.  "  See,"  sin;  said  ;  "  it  may 
be  a  loan  now,  and  a  gift  in  years  to  conn" 

"That  may  not  be  necessary,"  said  Mr.   Dacre.     "If  yooi 


238  GERTRUDE. 


brother  should  prosper  in  his  profession  he  may  be  able  to  repa) 
the  obligation,  and  you  will  be  once  more  free  to  follow  your  owi 
wishes." 

But  Gertrude  shrank  from  the  words,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden 
pain.  "  Talk  to  me  of  Edward  and  his  plans,*'  she  said — "not 
of  that ;"  and  she  turned  away  her  head  to  conceal  her  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  :  "  I  thought  it  might  have 
given  you  comfort." 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied,  eagerly.  "  Years  must  pass  before  I 
£ould  venture  to  hope  it,  and  I  feel  now  that  it  has  been  denied 
me,  as  if  it  would  be  wrong  still  to  cherish  the  wish.  "  But,"  she 
continued,  with  greater  unreserve,  "  it  could  not  have  been  pre- 
sumptuous ;  the  property  was  Edward's,  and  the  people  were  so 
miserable  ;  and  lately  I  have  been  amongst  them  very  often,  and 
fancied  them  peculiarly  my  own  charge,  because  I  have  been  told 
by  the  rector  that  I  might  have  a  school  at  one  of  the  cottages, 
and  Edith  and  I  had  planned  it,  and  next  week  we  were  to  have 
talked  to  Edward  about  it,  and  to  have  made  Laura  take  an  inte- 
rest in  it ;  but  it  must  all  go  now." 

Mr.  Dacre  did  not  try  to  comfort  her  ;  he  felt  that  it  would  do 
no  good. 

"  It  may  be  superstitious,"  she  continued,  ;t  but  I  have  some- 
times had  a  horrid  feelinjj  in  returning  from  the  heath,  as  if  there 
was  a  curse  on  the  rest  of  Edward's  property  because  of  it ;"  and 
forgetting  her  resolution  of  forcing  her  thoughts  from  the  subject, 
she  fixed  a  long  and  earnest  gaze  upon  the  little  hamlet. 

Mr.  Dacre  was  still  silent. 

"  If  we  could  only  look  upon  our  fellow-creatures  as  we  did  in 
childhood,"  added  Gertrude,  "  when  they  seemed  but  moving 
machines,  and  we  lived  with  them,  day  by  day,  and  had  no  con- 
sciousness  that  they  were  immortal." 

"  You  would  not  wish  it,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  No  ;  I  would  realize  truth  at  whatever  sacrifice  of  happi- 
ness ;  but  there  are  moments  when  it  is  almost  more  than  one 
can  bear."  And  rising,  she  walked  a  few  paces  apart ;  and  as 
Mr.  Dac*re  followed  her  with  his  eye,  the  remembrance  of  one, 
who,  like  her,  had  given  up  the  best  years  of  a  young  and  happy 
life  to  the  service  of  her  God,  and  who  was,  he  trusted,  then 
reaping  a  glorious  reward,  rose  before  him.  If  Edith  resem- 
bled his  child  in  features,  Gertrude  was  even  more  like  her  in 
character,  and  it  was  with  a  father's  pity  that  he  felt  for  her 
grief,  and  longed  to  inquire  whether  the  idea,  which,  during  the 
conversation,  had  been  gradually  strengthening  in  his  mind 
could  ease  the  burden  upon  hers.  After  a  few  moments,  Ger- 
trude returned,  saying  that  she  wished  to  go  back  to  Laura,  but 
Mr.  Dacre  observed  that  the  cloud  still  rested  upon  her  spirits. 
Sl;e    spoke    but    little,    and    walked    slowly    and    thoughtfully 


GERTRUDE.  23S 


There  was  no  opening  for  what  he  wished  to  say,  yet  he  could 
not  leave  her  in  such  a  state  of  depression  ;  and  as  they  ap- 
proached nearer  to  the  house,  he  became  nervously  anxious  for 
some  occasion  of  renewing  the  conversation,  though  conscious 
that  his  intended  plan  might  to  some  minds  give  pain  rather  than 
satisfaction. 

As  they  stopped  at  the  shrubbery  gate,  Mr.  Dacre  saw  that 
Gertrude  expected  they  should  separate.  "  My  road  lies  in  a 
different  direction  from  yours,"  he  said,  "  but  you  must  let  me  go 
,with  you  a  few  steps  farther.  I  had  one  thing  more  to  say  to 
you." 

"  I  had  many  to  say  to  you,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  am 
afraid  to  leave  Laura  alone  when  she  is  ill.  Perhaps  we  shall  be 
better  able  to  tell  what  is  to  be  done  after  Edward's  return." 

"  I  was  not  going  to  speak  of  him,  but  of  yourself." 

"  You  would  teach  me  to  be  satisfied,"  said  Gertrude,  with  a 
melancholy  smile. 

"  I  was  going  not  to  teach  you,"  he  replied,  "  but  to  suggest 
a  notion  of  my  own.  which  might  possibly — I  do  not  know — but 
it  might  accord  with  yours  ;  and  if  it  did,  it  would  give  me 
greater  satisfaction  than  I  have  felt  for  some  years." 

"Is  it  what  I  can  do  '?"  asked  Gertrude. 

"  Not  what  you  car.  do,  but  what  you  would  have  done." 

Gertrude  looked  bewildered,  and  Mr.  Dacre  was  vexed.  He 
had  hoped  that  she  would  have  guessed  his  meaning.  "  I  am  a 
solitary  man,"  he  said,  "  with  few  claims  in  England,  though 
many  in  a  distant  land  ;  and  perhaps  the  best  offering  1  could 
make  for  the  benefit  of  a  place  which  is  associated  with  so  much 
of  early  happiness,  would  be  the  church  in  which  we  are  both  BO 
interested  ?" 

Before  the  sentence  was  concluded  its  meaning  had  flashed 
upon  Gertrude's  mind.  Respect  and  gratitude  struggled  fear- 
fully with  the  keenness  of  a  disappointment  which  till  that  in- 
stant she  had  never  fully  realized  ;  and  yielding  to  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, she  turned  away  without  one  word  of  reply.  W  hen  -he 
again  looked  for  Mr.  Dacre  he  was  gone. 

Poor  Gertrude!  it  was  a  bitter  moment — one  that  in  after 
years  was  never  remembered  but  with  penitence  and  shame. 
She,  who  had  believed  that  her  will  was  Bubdued,  even  aa  her 
reason  was  convinced,  had  been  betrayed  into  coldness  and  tin- 
thankfulness  towards  the   person  whom  of  all  otherB  BJie   I 

reverenced.     With  a  heavy,  aching  feeling  of  regret,  «  hich  non« 
can  understand  but  those  who  have  suddenly  failed  when  they 
surely  trusted   that  they   Btood    firm,  she    entered    the 
wretched  at  the  recollection   of  her   proud,  rebellious    spin!,  and 

doubtful  whether  it  would  ever  be   |  Jtablish  her 

■elfin  Mr.  Dacre's  regard.     After  some  thoughl  nined 


MO  GERTRUDE. 


upon  writing  to  him  at  once,  confessing  her  weakness,  and  beg- 
ging him  to  return  as  early  as  possible,  to  assure  her  of  his  par- 
don. "  I  cannot  attempt  excuses,"  were  the  concluding  words 
of  her  note  ;  "  they  will  not  raise  me  in  your  estimation,  or  ren- 
der me  less  unworthy  in  my  own ;  but  as  you  once  reminded  me 
that  you  could  enter  into  a  father's  feelings,  so,  as  an  erring  child, 
I  would  entreat  you  to  forget,  if  possible,  my  apparent  ingrati- 
tude. I  believe  I  was  disappointed  at  not  being  permitted  to 
follow  my  own  will  ;  and  the  only  evidence  that  will  really  con- 
vince me  I  am  forgiven,  is  such  as  I  scarcely  dare  to  ask  ;  but 
if  I  might  be  allowed  to  assist  you  in  any  way,  it  would  prove  to 
me,  (what  now  it  is  difficult  to  hope,)  that  you  will  still  give  me 
the  blessing  of  your  friendship." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

When  this  note  was  dispatched,  Gertrude's  mind  was  com- 
paratively relieved.  She  had  done  her  utmost  to  atone  for  her 
fault  in  human  eyes,  but  the  fault  was  not  therefore  forgotten. 
It  still  remained,  to  increase  the  burden  upon  her  spirits  ;  and 
her  manner  was  so  altered,  when  she  went  to  her  sister's  room, 
as  to  excite  Laura's  observation. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  "  to  go  down 
stairs  and  see  what  the  people  are  about,  but  really  you  look  so 
fagged  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  do  it.  Where  have  you  been 
walking  to  ?" 

"  Only  into  the  park.     What  shall  I  do  for  you  below  !" 

"  Any  thing  you  please.  They  have  been  to  my  room  for  or- 
ders half  a  dozen  times  already  ;  and  at  last  I  said  no  one  should 
come  again  on  any  pretence  whatever ;  for  my  head  aches  so 
dreadfully  I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  Lie  down  again,"  said  Gertrude,  "  and  let  me  place  the 
cushions  for  you,  and  then  you  shall  send  me  about  just  as  you 
please." 

"  That's  what  I  don't  want ;  I  had  rather  it  should  be  as  you 
please.  There  is  some  fuss  about  the  conservatory  ;  it  must  be 
lighted  at  night,  and  yet  we  want  it  to  look  pretty  in  the  day,  and 
they  can't  exactly  tell  how  to  manage  it." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  you  must  remember 
it  is  not  much  in  my  way." 

"  Quite  as  much  as  it  is  in  mine,"  said  Laura,  sighing.  "  Ed- 
ward had  planned  it  all,  and  we  talked  it  over  one  night ;  but  I 


GERTRUDE.  241 


don't  know  exactly  what  he  decided  on.  Is  it  not  strange,  Ger- 
trude, how  differently  one  feels  now  about  things,  from  what  one 
did  a  few  years  ago  ?" 

"Or  a  few  months  ago,"  thought  Gertrude,  but  she  did  not  say 
it ;  though  it  seemed  almost  wrong,  knowing  what  she  did,  to  al- 
low Laura  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  whole  truth. 

"I  think  so  much  about  to-morrow,"  continued  Laura  ;  "  and 
ever  since  you  have  been  away  I  have  been  startled,  when  I 
have  been  trying  to  go  to  sleep,  by  some  sudden  noise,  which 
raade  me  fancy  Edward  was  here  ;  and  once  I  thought  1  heard 
Miss  Foresters  step  ;  but  you  don't  think  she  will  come  again, 
do  you  '?" 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  you  are  safe  from  her  at  anv  rate  ; 
and  as  for  Edward,  we  may  hope  that  after  to-morrow '' 

"  To-morrow — "  interrupted  Laura,  in  a  tone  strangely  dif- 
ferent from  usual ;  "  I  feel  as  if  to-morrow  would  be  the  end  of 
one  life,  and  the  beginning  of  another.  I  have  feared  many  days 
in  my  life,  but  none  like  it.  Gertrude,  what  will  come  after  to- 
morrow !" 

There  was  a  wild  sadness  in  the  expression  of  her  sparkling 
eyes,  which  chilled  and  startled  Gertrude.  She  trembled,  lest 
excitement  and  agitation  should  be  about  to  produce  fever  ;  ami 
again  entreating  Laura  to  lie  down  and  rest,  she  left  her,  and 
went  down  stairs.  Here  she  found  every  thing  in  very  much 
the  same  state  of  confusion  as  she  had  left  it.  In  the  absence 
of  a  presiding  head,  there  had  naturally  arisen  a  conflict  of  pub- 
lic opinion,  and  carpenters,  gardeners,  footmen,  and  housemaids, 
had  all  considered  it  incumbent  on  them  to  leave  their  several 
stations,  in  Order  to  give  their  ideas  for  the  general  good.  There 
was  an  assembly  of  the  lower  house  in  the  entrance  hall  ;  and 
the  housekeeper,  who  justly  considered  herself  entitled  to  at  least 
the  casting  vote,  was  declaiming  vehemently  in  favor  of  silver 
sconces,  instead  of  oil  lamps,  when  Gertrude  appeared  on  the 
staircase.  "  Hush  !  hush  !  here  is  the  young  lady — here  is  Miss 
Gertrude!"  was  murmured  around;  but  the  full  tide  of  Mrs. 
Dickson's  eloquence  was  not  to  be  stopped  by  eithei  mistress  »r 
master.  "  How  should  they  know  V  she  said;  "which  one  of 
them  was  there  that  could  tell  a  silver  candlestick  from  a  tin  one, 
till  she  taught  them  the  difference;  and  now,  for  them  to  Bet  up 
and  judge!  But  it  was  tins  way  of  the  world.  She'd  seen 
enough  of  it,  and  all  she  longed  for  was  a  quiet  life,  onlj 
would  see  justice  done.  \\  iiile  she  lived  at  AJlinghara  tl 
wasn't  one  that  should  Bay'that  things  wern'l  handsome:  and 
silver  sconces  and  wax  candles  there  should  be,  if  she  bought 
them,  and  paid  lor  them  herself."—"  Bui  'tis  what  we  all  wai  . 
that  things  should  be  handsome,"  interrupted  the  butler;  and 
ne  was  proceeding  to  expatiate  in  his  turn   upon  the  opposito 

11 


242  GERTRUDE. 

side  of  the  question,  when  Gertrude,  stepping  in  among  the 
group,  caused  a  sudden  dispersion.  The  carpenters  took  up 
their  hammers,  the  housemaids  their  hrushes  and  dusters,  the 
footmen  returned  to  their  occupations  ;  even  Mrs.  Dickson  van- 
ished, though  not  before  Gertrude  had  overheard  her  issuing 
strict  orders  to  one  of  the  men  to  run  down  to  Elsham  and  tell 
them  to  send  all  the  wax  candles  in  Johnson's  shop — there 
wouldn't  be  one  more  than  was  wanted,  and  if  there  was  they 
could  easily  be  returned.  Gertrude  could  not  smile.  The  thing 
might  be  a  trifle — an  accident,  but  it  was  a  symptom  of  a  most 
dangerous  disease. 

"  Perhaps,  ma'am,  you'd  be  so  good  as  to  show  us  how  we 
are  to  go  on  here,"  said  one  of  the  workmen,  accosting  her  re- 
spectfully ;  "  they've  brought  up  the  evergreens,  but  we  don't 
know  how  Mrs.  Courtenay  chooses  to  have  them  put ;  and  Mrs. 
Dickson  says  there's  to  be  some  flowers  stuck  up  some- 
where." 

Gertrude  followed,  rather  as  if  about  to  superintend  the 
preparations  for  a  funeral  than  a  fete.  Her  head  swam,  her 
eyes  were  dizzy,  and  the  complete  transformation  of  the  house 
made  her  feel  as  if  in  a  painful  dream.  The  drawing-room  was 
empty  and  uncarpeted,  and  strewn  with  branches  of  laurel,  lau- 
rustinus,  and  evergreen  oaks,  some  of  which  were  carelessly 
piled  against  the  delicate  paper  on  the  walls,  and  others  stuck 
against  the  splendid  glasses,  without  taste  or  design.  Gertrude 
sighed  at  the  task  before  her,  and  as  a  preliminary  step  was  go- 
ing to  propose  that  the  room  should  be  half  cleared,  when  a  merry 
voice  exclaimed, — 

"  Chacun  a  son  gout,  Gertrude.  I  should  not  have  said  this 
was  yours." 

"  Necessity,"  said  Gertrude,  with  a  faint  laugh  ;  "  but  what 
brings  you  here,  Charlotte  '{" 

"  That  which  takes  all  women  everywhere — at  least,  so  say 
all  men — curiosity.     Where  is  Laura  !" 

"  Up  stairs,  very  unwell." 

"  That  means  I  am  not  to  see  her ;  but  I  shan't  break  my 
heart.  Mr.  Dacre,  you  may  venture  in — there  is  no  one 
here." 

Mr.  Dacre  appeared  in  the  door-way,  but  was  evidently  shy  of 
coming;  forward. 

"  What  was  your  correspondence  about  1"  whispered  Char- 
lotte to  her  sister.  Gertrude's  reply  was  a  deep  blush,  and 
Charlotte  looked  very  malicious.  "  I  shall  leave  you  to  your 
tete-a-tete,"  she  said,  "  and  when  you  have  finished,  you  may 
send  for  me." 

"  My  errand  is  soon  done,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  turning  to  Ger- 
trude :  *'  I  received  your  note  just  as  I  was  talking  to  your  sister 


GERTRUDE.  243 


and  I  walked  back  with  her  to  say,  that  if  you  had  any  plans  or 
drawings  you  can  let  me  see,  1  shall  be  very  much  obliged. 
Good-by  to  you,  I  won't  keep  you  when  you  are  so  busy." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Gertrude,  and  her  voice  shook ;  "  you 
shall  have  the  drawings  this  evening."  And  as  she  held  out  her 
hand,  there  was  a  long  warm  pressure,  which  told  that  all  was 
forgiven.  Gertrude  felt  very  foolish,  almost  as  if  she  could  have 
cried,  but  Charlotte's  eye  was  upon  her,  and  she  exerted  herself 
to  be  composed. 

'"A  strange  person  that,"  said  Charlotte,  musingly,  when  Mr. 
Dacre  was  gorre  ;  "  but  one  can't  think  about  him  now.  What 
are  you  doing  here,  Gertrude  ?" 

""Nothing." 

"What  have  you  done?" 

"  Nothing — and  what  am  I  going  to  do  ] — nothing.  So  do, 
Charlotte,  take  the  affair  off  my  hands." 

"  It  looks  inviting,  certainly  ;  but  may  I  have  my  own  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  any  thing  and  every  thing  you  please.  Laura  can't 
work,  and  I  won't." 

"  Won't !  that  is  very  unlike  you.  I  thought  you  would  do 
all  things." 

"  Would,  if  I  could,"  said  Gertrude,  with  an  unconscious  em- 
phasis upon  the  words. 

'•  Well !  I  like  to  see  great  geniuses  balked  occasionally.  So 
you  leave  the  reins  of  government  in  my  hands  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  let  me  retire  ;"  and  without  listening  for  an 
answer,  Gertrude  ran  out  of  the  room;  for  her  heart  was 
full,  and  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  another  sentence.  Char- 
lotte thought  her  manner  peculiar,  but  did  not  trouble  herself  to 
ask  questions.  The  bell  was  rung  ;  the  housekeeper  summoned, 
and  when  Gertrude  returned,  she  found  her  sister  in  full  con- 
sultation with  Mrs.  Dickson,  as  to  what  was  going  on,  and  giv- 
ing rapid  orders  to  the  work-people  for  the  decorations.  The 
first  sentence  which  she  heard,  made  her  repent  having  yielded 
her  authority. 

'•Mrs.  Dickson,  these  hangings  look  awkward:  I  think  il 
some  one  were  to  go  down  to  Elsham,  tiny  mighl  find  some 
silk  to  match  them,  and  we  might  have  festoons  between  the 
windows." 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  yes,  certainly.     One  of  the  housemaids 

go  directly." 

'   She  can  take  a  tassel  to  get  a  good   match:  and  stop,     eon 
tinned  Charlotte;  "let  her  tell  Miss  Harvey  to  Bend  up  all 
artificial  flowers.     She  had  a  great  box  from  town,  I  know,  only 
the  other  day." 

"And  Borne  more  twine  and  tin-tacks,  Mrs.   Did  on,     said 

•>ne  of  the  men. 


244  GERTRUDE. 


Poor  Gertrude  listened  in  extreme  discomposure, — the  twine 
and  tin-tacks  seemed  the  climax  of  extravagance.  "  You  can't 
have  used  all  I  saw  here  this  morning,"  she  said,  as  she  picked 
up  half  a  dozen  from  the  floor ;  and  then  went  searching  ahout 
for  more.  Charlotte  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  begged  to 
know  what  tin-tacks  were  a  hundred. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Gertrude,  gravely  ;  "  but  it  is  as  wel\ 
to  be  careful." 

"  Quite  as  well  :  mind  they  match  the  silk  properly,  Mrs. 
Dickson." 

"  Oh  Charlotte  !  you  are  not  in  earnest,"  exclaimed  Gertrude  : 
"  there  is  not  the  least  occasion  for  it." 

"  I  thought  I  was  to  have  my  own  way,"  replied  Charlotte. 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  it  is  a  rational  one." 

"  That  was  not  an  article  in  our  agreement." 

Gertrude  could  not  dispute  the  point  while  the  servants  were 
present,  and  before  she  had  time  to  speak  to  Charlotte  alone,  a 
summons  was  sent  her  from  Laura.  "  Promise  me  you  will  not 
j>end  for  any  thing  till  I  return,"  said  Gertrude  ;  but  Charlotte 
was  resolved,  and  although  Gertrude  was  only  wanted  to  re- 
port progress,  the  interruption  was  fatal  to  her  economical 
wishes.  Laura  kept  her  in  her  room  talking  for  a  considerable 
time  ;  and  when  she  again  went  to  the  drawing-room,  a  shop- 
man was  measuring  out  lengths  of  pale  blue  silk,  and  Charlotte 
was  kneeling  by  a  bench,  picking  out  the  handsomest  artificial 
flowers  from  a  heap  which  lay  beside  her,  to  form  wreaths  for 
the  sconces  and  the  glasses.  The  whole  of  that  evening  was 
as  a  miserable  mockery  to  Gertrude.  Charlotte  stayed  to  din- 
ner at  her  own  request ;  and  Laura  appeared,  and  exerted  her- 
self to  seem  cheerful,  and  light  conversation  was  held,  and  all 
the  ordinary  courtesies  of  life  went  on,  as  if  no  secret  spring  of 
grier  was  working  beneath.  Yet  to  Gertrude  almost  every 
word  and  look  was  burdened  with  a  double  meaning.  The  fur- 
niture of  the  room,  and  the  elegancies  of  the  table,  were  no 
longer  Edward's.  The  deference  of  the  servants  was  an  out- 
ward show.  She  felt  herself  only  acting  a  part  in  the  general 
deception  ;  and  the  dark  eyes  and  stern  countenances  of  the  old 
family  portraits  seemed  to  reproach  her  with  the  ruin  about  to 
be  associated  with  their  name.  Ruin — and  it  might  be,  dis- 
honor ;  and  as  the  possibility  crossed  her  mind,  she  longed  to 
shut  her  eyes  to  the  light,  and  close  her  ears  to  the  sound  of 
unman  voices,  and  banish  the  very  name  of  her  family  from  the 
world's  remembrance.  Charlotte  was  too  busied  with  her  new 
office  to  notice  very  minutely  what  was  passing ;  and  dinner 
was  no  sooner  ended,  than  she  again  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  to  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  her  work.  The  room  was 
cleared,  and  t>ie  benches  were  put  in  order  ;  and  then  some  can 


GERTRUDE.  245 


dies  were  lighted,  and  a  few  lamps  placed  in  the  conservatory, 
to  give  an  idea  of  what  the  general  effect  would  be  the  next  even- 
ing. 

"  It  is  beautiful,  you  must  own,"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  when  all 
was  completed,  and  Laura  was  ushered  into  the  room  in  state  : 
"  and  just  fancy  how  it  will  look  to-morrow  night,  filled  with  peo- 
ple.    I  am  sure  Edward  will  be  pleased." 

A  smile  of  gratification  lighted  up  Laura's  pallid  features  ;  but, 
as  it  died  away,  a  hectic  flush  crimsoned  her  cheek,  and  she  put 
per  hand  to  her  forehead  to  still  its  painful  throbbing.  "Why 
does  she  speak  of  him,  Gertrude  V  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice, 
while  the  sam'e  wandering  expression  gleamed  in  her  eyes,  which 
Gertrude  had  noticed  once  before. 

'•  She  hopes  he  will  come,"  was  the  reply  :  "  and  so  we  all 
do." 

"  Come  !   yes,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it.     Who  says  there  is  ?" 

"  Now.  Laura,  look  this  way  ;  at  the  effect  through  the  pier 
glass,"  interrupted  Charlotte,  beckoning  her  to  the  lower  end  of 
the  room. 

Laura  went,  and  as  sne  caught  sight  of  her  own  figure  in  front 
of  the  brilliant  reflection,  she  stopped,  and  a  ghastly  smile  passed 
over  her  countenance.  "  How  will  it  be  to-morrow  V  she  said, 
turning  to  Gertrude,  who  stood  by  her  side,  with  her  arm  encir- 
cling her  waist,  from  a  vague  fear  lest  she  should  be  seized  with 
a  sudden  giddiness  or  faintness.  "Edward  will  be  here;  and 
Miss  Forester — what  will  they  say  V 

"  Edward  would  say  now,  that  you  are  tired,  and  ought  not  to 
be  here,"  replied  Gertrude  :  "  will  you  not  go  with  me  to  your 
own  room  ?" 

Laura  took  no  notice  of  her  sister's  words.  She  stood  for 
several  minutes  as  if  fascinated  by  her  own  exquisite  beauty, 
and  then  in  a  sad  voice  murmured,  "  He  said  that  his  love  was 
gone  ;"  and  seating  herself  upon  one  of  the  benches,  she  burst 
into  tears. 

"  I  cannot  leave  her  in  this  state,"  said  Gertrude,  drawing  her 
sister  aside  ;  "  mamma  will  not  care.  Tell  her  that  Laura  is  nol 
'.veil,  and  that  I  shall  sleep  here." 

'•  She  frightens  me,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "what  is  the  matter  '" 

"  Don't  ask,"  replied  Gertrude  :  "  only  say  what  I  teil  you,  and 
(on't  let  mamma  In:  anxious." 

"  But  what  shall  you  do  if  she  is  not  better  to-morrow  !  how 
shall  you  manage  '" 

"I  "don't  know— I  can't  think.  To-morrow  will  be  sufficient 
for  itself;  let  us  do  what  is  best  to-night."  And  Gertrude  again 
began  to  entreat  Laura  to  go  to  her  own  room. 

"  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  shall  be  alone 
Hark  !  did  you  not  hear  a  carriage?" 


D 


46  GERTRUDE. 


Gertrude  listened  anxiously,  but  caught  no  sound  :  "  it  is  but 
the  wind,"  she  said,  "  and  your  fancy." 

Laura  dragged  herself,  rather  than  walked,  to  the  door,  to  be 
quite  certain  :  and  Gertrude  followed,  assuring  her  that  if  she 
would  only  consent  to  go  to  bed,  she  would  herself  remain  with 
ber. 

"  But  he  may  come  :  it  is  not  too  late,"  persisted  Laura  ;  "  and 
he  did  not  say  he  would  not  be  here  to-night." 

"  And  if  he  should  come,  will  he  be  pleased  to  see  you  ill !" 

"  Pleased  !"  repeated  Laura;  "  pleased  with  me  !" 

Gertrude  saw  that  it  was  in  vain  to  reason,  and  assuming  a 
different  manner,  she  said,  "  Laura,  you  must  go.  I  will  stay 
with  you  and  do  every  thing  you  may  require  if  you  do ;  but  il 
you  do  not,  I  will  leave  you  directly." 

"Alone!"  again  muttered  Laura;  but  her  voice  was  faint, 
and  when  Gertrude  gently  led  her  from  the  room  she  no  longer 
resisted. 

The  scene  which  she  had  just  witnessed  had  convinced  Ger- 
trude that  it  would  be  right,  at  any  risk,  to  calm  Laura's  mind  as 
much  as  possible  ;  and  they  were  no  sooner  left  by  themselves 
than  she  told  her  in  few  words  of  all  that  had  passed  with  Miss 
Forester.  But  the  effect  of  the  communication  did  not  answer 
her  expectations.  Laura's  gratitude  and  affection  were  excited 
to  the  utmost,  but  Gertrude  saw  that  she  had  not  understood  her 
character.  She  no  longer  spoke  of  delay,  but  seemed  rather  to 
think  that  there  was  a  greater  necessity  than  before  of  confessing 
every  thing  to  Edward,  in  order  that  Gertrude  might  not  be  in- 
convenienced. And  the  pressure  of  this  idea  still  weighed  upon 
ner  mind  so  painfully,  that  Gertrude  did  not  venture  to  continue 
the  conversation.  Every  mention  of  Miss  Forester's  name  re- 
called some  cause  of  repentance  or  regret;  and  Gertrude,  feeling 
that  her  only  hope  of  giving  comfort  was  at  an  end,  was  obliged 
to  confine  her  observation  to  common  subjects. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

It  was  late  that  night  before  Gertrude  retired  to  rest.  Laura's 
ziervous  agitation  was  so  great  that  she  could  not  bear  a  mo- 
ment's solitude  ;  and  after  assisting  her  to  undress,  Gertrude  sat 
oy  the  bed-side,  watching  her  breathing,  with  the  intention  of 
sending  for  medical  advice,  if  she  saw  any  indications  of  increas- 
ing fever.     The  symptoms  which  had  alarmed  her  seemed  how- 


GERTRUDE.  247 


ever  more  the  result  of  anxiety  of  mind  than  natural  illness;  for 
after  some  hours'  restlessness,  Laura's  uneven  pulse  grew  calmer, 
and  her  countenance  more  composed,  and  at  length  sleep  grad- 
ually stole  over  her.    It  was  then  midnight, — but  Gertrude  felt  no 
weariness ;  she  almost  dreaded  to  lie  down,  from  the  knowledge 
of  what  her  waking  would   bring.     It  was  the  first  night,  too, 
that  she  had  passed  at  Allingham  ;  and  the  strangeness  of  the 
apartment,  its  size  and  furniture,  so  different  from  her  own  little 
room  at  the  Priorv,  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  unn:ttu'-al  ex- 
citement of  her  feelings.     A  sensation  of  awe  came  over  her,  as 
she  looked  at  the  large  bed,  and  massive  cabinets,  and  tried  to 
find  out  what  was  hidden  in  the  dark  corners ;  and  then  caught 
the  still,  almost  inaudible,  sound  which  reminded  her  she  was 
not  alone  :  and  when  she  placed  herself  at  the  dressing-room 
door,  which  had  been  left  open,  and  looked  down  the  long  gallery 
listening  to  the  dull,  regular  ticking  of  the  time-piece  in  the  hall, 
and  feeling  herself  the  only  waking  being  in  the  house, — a  chill 
fear,  such  as  she  remembered   to  have  been  the  torment  of  her 
childhood,  came  over  her,  while  shadowy  forms  seemed  to  be 
gliding  near,  and  the  rustling  of  her  own  dress,  and  the  touch  of 
her  own   hand,  startled  her.     Gertrude  was  not  timid,  but  she 
was  worn  with  harass  of  mind.     She  did  not  reason  with  herself, 
or  even  ridicule  the  absurdity  of  her  own  fancies ;  but  she  quiet- 
ly closed  the  door,  and  kneeling  down,  buried  her  face  in   her 
hands,  and   brought  herself,  at  once,  into  the  real   presence  of 
that  unseen  world,  the  shadows  of  which   had   caused    her  to 
tremble.     God   was   guarding,  and  her   Saviour  was  watching 
over  her,  and  the  Spirit  of  Holiness  was  strengthening  her  fee- 
ble heart,  and  angels  of  peace  were  waiting  to  minister  to  her 
comfort ;  and  when,  with  solemn  reverence,  the  humble  confes- 
sion, and  the  earnest  thanksgiving,  the  entreaty  and  the  inter- 
cession, had  been  made,  Gertrude  rose  from  her  knees  tranquil 
and   trusting;  and  when   she   lay  down,  slept  as  a  child  would 
sleep  beneath  a  parent's  eye.     With  the  first  dawn  of  morning  she 
awoke,  but  not  with  the  wretchedness  which  she  had  anticipated. 
The  light  was  indeed  blue  and  cheerless,  very  different  from  the 
rich,  fading  glow  of  sunset ;  and  the  flickering  of  the  expiring 
lampremuided  her  that  the  rest  of  night  was  over ;  bul  Gertrude's 
last  thoughts   had  been  of  peace,  and  peace  had  nol  deserted 
her.    After  a  glance  at  Laura,  which  satisfied  her  thai  there 
no   particular    reason    to    lie   uneasy,  she    went   to    the    window, 
though  witli  no  wish  to  sec  if  the  weather  was  likelj  to  he  pro- 
pitious  for  an  archery  party.     She  had  almost  forgotten  thai  it 
was  of  importance,  bul  the  vain  Iou^ml'  to  Know  "  whal  the  day 
might  bring  forth,"  made  her  look  upon  its  first  opening  with 

something  of  a  superstitious  eye.     There  was  little  c rt. 

however,    to   be   gained    from    the    outward    world,    lor    duo, 


24S  GERTRUDE. 


c 


_overed  the  distant  country,  and  the  trees  in  the  park  were  still 
in  comparative  darkness.  Only  the  white  road  gleamed  in  the 
twilight,  and  a  thin  column  of  smoke  arose  from  one  soiitaiy  cot- 
tage! while  far  away  in  the.  east,  a  bright  crimson  streak  was 
gradually  extending  'itself,  and  dispersing  the  masses  of  gray 
clouds  which  had  gathered  to  greet  the  rising  sun.  For  a  long 
time  Gertrude  remained  at  the  window,  watching  till  the  crimson 
streak  had  spread  into  a  broad  belt,  and  the  gray  clouds  had  sep- 
arated into  light  flakes  ;  and  then  the  glorious  orb  of  fire  stole  up- 
wards between  the  shadowy  hills,  marking  their  smooth  outlines, 
and  brightening  their  grassy  slopes  ;  while  still,  as  it  ascended, 
the  mists  floated  from  before  it,  and  the  radiant  sky  melted  into 
a  clear  pale  blue  ;  and  silently  and  swiftly  the  gladdening  rays 
travelled  onwards,  till  hill  and  valley,  streamlet  and  tree,  tall 
spires  and  clustering  cottages,  had  felt  their  magic  power,  and 
started  into  life  beneath  their  touch.  Alas !  for  Gertrude.  That 
dazzling  scene  was  not  for  her ;  those  brilliant  rays^  had  no 
charm  to  cheer  her  burdened  spirit.  She  was  in  Edward's 
home,  looking  upon  Edward's  property  ;  and  the  next  few  months 
might  see  him  banished  from  both  by  his  own  errors.  With  an 
aching  heart  she  turned  away,  for  the  sunlight  had  brought  with 
it  visions  of  earth,  and  earth  has  no  spell  to  sooth  the  troubled 
breast.  Yet.  she  was  not  condemned  to  inaction,  that  most  pain- 
ful of  all  trials  when  sorrow  is  at  hand.  The  comfort  of  many 
might  be  promoted  by  her  exertions ;  and  it  was  with  this 
thought  that  she  steeled  herself  to  bear,  not  only  patiently  but 
cheerfully,  whatever  might  be  in  store  for  her. 

By  the  time  Laura  awoke  she  was  dressed,  and  ready  to  at- 
tend upon,  or  talk  to  her,  or  do  whatever  might  be  needed  ; 
and  Laura,  refreshed  by  her  night's  rest,  and  ignorant  of  the 
chief  sources  of  uneasiness,  was  less  insensible  to  the  influence 
of  a  brilliant  summer  morning,  though  something  unnatural  still 
lurked  in  her  smile  when  she  spoke  of  all  that  was  to  be  done 
during  the  day. 

"I  am  so  much  better  this  morning,"  she  said,  in  answer  to 
Gertrude's  inquiries ;  "  and  I  must  get  up,  and  see  what  they 
have  been  doing." 

Gertrude  entreated  her  to  remain  quiet,  and  to  think  as  little 
as  possible,  for  that  every  thing  had  been  prepared  the  day  be- 
fore. "  If  you  will  promise  me  not  to  worry  yourself,"  she  add- 
ed, "  I  will  leave  you  after  breakfast,  for  they  will  be  anxious  for 
me  at  home." 

"  I  will  be  quiet  if  I  can,"  said  Laura;  "  but  you  will  not  be 
gone  long." 

"Not  longer  than  I  can  help,  and  I  can  bring  my  dress  with 
\ne  for  the  afternoon." 

"Ah!  that  reminds  me,"   exclaimed    Laura,  starting   up   in 


GERTRUDE.  249 


bed.  "Just  look  in  my  wardrobe,  there  is  a  dress  there.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is, — "  and  she  sank  back  on  her  pillow, — "  my  head 
is  very  troublesome  when  I  move." 

"  Then  do  not  move,  dearest ;  stay  where  you  are  till  after 
breakfast."    - 

"  But  the  dress — Watson  knows  about  it.  It  is  that  very 
pale  violet-figured  silk,  Edward's  favorite.  I  shall  wear  it,  I 
think." 

"  And  why  am  I  to  take  it  down  V 

"I  must  look  at  it,  and  the  white  bonnet,  too;  the  new  one 
with  the  wreath,  and  the  lace  mantilla.  1  should  like  to  see 
them  all."  " 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done  with  them  V  inquired  Gertrude. 

"  Nothing;  but  Edward  asked  me  what  I  should  wear,  and  1 
wish  to  be  in  time.  He  will  be  pleased  to  see  me  dressed  ;  don't 
you  think  he  will !" 

Gertrude's  fears  of  the  previous  night  returned  as  Laura 
spoke  ;  but  after  a  few  minutes  she  mentioned  a  few  alterations 
which  were  to  be  made  in  the  arrangements,  with  so  much  clear- 
ness, that  Gertrude  could  scarcely  help  accusing  herself  of  being 
fanciful  in  feeling  uneasy.  "  Remember  your  promise,"  she  said 
at  parting  :  "  you  are  not  to  ask  any  questions,  or  trouble  your- 
self about  anything,  and  trust  to  my  being  back  in  time  to  see 
that  all  is  ready." 

Laura  agreed,  and  Gertrude  set  off  for  the  Priory.  There  was 
but  one  person  whom  she  dreaded  to  see.  It  would  be  easy  to 
satisfv  her  mother  and  Jane,  whatever  inquiries  they  might  make  ; 
and  Charlotte,  too,  was  not  likely  to  suspect  any  thing  wrong, 
except  Laura's  illness;  but  Edith  had  a  right  to  know  every 
thing;  and  after  leaving  her  in  such  a  state  of  distress  the  pre- 
vious day,  Gertrude  really  feared  what  the  consequence  miizht 
be  when  she  was  told  the  truth.  She  was  not  in  the  drawing- 
room,  however;  and  Gertrude  bad  only  at  first  to  reply  to  a 
string  of  questions  from  Mrs.  Courtenav,  and  assure  Charlotte 
that  Laura  was  not  dangerously  ill,  and  that  no  one  had  presumed 
to  interfere  with  her  decorations. 

"  Well  !  my  dear,  I  am  so  glad,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  I  jourtenay  ; 
'•I  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen  last  night,  when 
Charlotte  came  back  without  you :  something  terrible,  I  was  sure. 
Edward's  going  np  to  town  iii  that  strange  way  Beemed  bo  odd, 
and  then  Laura's  crying,  as  Charlotte  said,  and  your  looking 
ill;  but  it  is  very  natural  after  all.  1  know  what  it  is  to  have  i 
large  party.  Have  as  many  servants  a.-,  you  may,  they  muel  be 
ooked  after." 

'•  Laura  has  not  been  well  for  two  days,"  said  Gertrude. 

"Poor  child!  it    is   a  very  nervous    business,   anil    Edward 

a    very  thoughtless  in  running  away  from  her  just  now;    bul 


230  GERTRUDE. 


men    always  are  so;     your  poor  dear    father  was  exactly  the 
same." 

"  But  about  to-day,"  said  Jane  ;  "  do  you  think  Laura  really 
expects  us  all  ?" 

"  She  expects  me,"  observed  Charlotte.  "  I  consider  it  my 
party,  since  I  had  the  dressing  up  of  the  room." 

"  It  is  very  troublesome,"  said  Jane  ;  "  one  doesn't  know  what 
to  put  on.  It  is  neither  an  out-of-door,  nor  an  in-door  affair 
What  shall  you  wear,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  have  two  or  three  dresses  that  will  do." 

"  Now,  is  not  that  like  Edith  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte.  "  Ac- 
tually this  party  has  been  talked  of  for  the  last  fortnight,  and  al 
last  the  day  is  come,  and  Gertrude  has  not  made  up  her  mind 
what  dress  she  shall  appear  in." 

"  But  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Gertrude,  endeavoring 
to  appear  interested  ;  "  at  least  so  far  as  to  settle  that  it  shall  be 
one  of  three." 

*'  And  you  did  really  think  about  it  ?"  said  Charlotte,  doubt- 
fully. "  And  you  do  consider  it  a  matter  of  consequence  whether 
you  are  dressed  in  brown  holland  or  silk  ]  Then  you  shall  come 
and  choose  for  me.  Miss  Harvey  has  sent  home  my  peach- 
colored  satinet  such  a  figure  that  it  is  not  fit  to  be  seen.  A  des- 
perate scolding  she  shall  have  to-morrow,  but  that  won't  help  me 
in  my  difficulties  to-day." 

Gertrude  was  dragged  away  to  Charlotte's  room,  and  soon 
employed  in  deciding  whether  blue  silk  or  white  muslin  would 
be  more  becoming ;  and  comparing  flowers  and  ribbons,  scarfs, 
mantillas,  and  gloves,  in  order  to  find  out  which  would  suit 
beM. 

Then  came  Mrs.  Courtenay,  with  an  earnest  request  that 
dear  Gertrude  would  just  try  and  alter  the  folds  of  her  black 
satin  dress  ;  she  was  sure  no  one  could  do  it  as  well.  And  she 
should  like  to  know,  too,  whether  Miss  Harvey  had  not  put  too 
many  flowers  in  her  bonnet.  "  There  are  no  lady's  maids  in 
the  house,"  whispered  Charlotte,  satirically  ;  but  Gertrude  did 
not  reply  in  the  same  tone.  She  did  all  that  was  required — 
took  out  the  flowers,  and  put  them  in  again  differently,  sewed 
some  edging  to  a  pair  of  cuff's,  and  then,  when  the  clock  had 
struck  one,  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  Allingham.  And 
all  this  time  she  had  not  seen  Edith.  She  had  asked  for  her 
several  times,  but  no  one  knew  any  thing  about  her,  except  that 
at  breakfast  she  had  scarcely  spoken  ;  to  which  Charlotte  added, 
that  she  was  pale,  and  did  not  eat ;  but  since  then  she  had  no 
been  seen. 

"  You  will  find  her  at  the  school,  I  have  no  doubt,  mj 
dear,"  said  Mis.  Courtenay  ;  "  I  saw  her  go  out  with  her  bon 
set  on." 


GERTRUDE.  251 


"  And   did   she  say  nothing  about  me  V  inquired  Gertrude. 

She  must  have  thought  I  should  be  here." 

"  No,  nothing  at  all  ;  but  you  are  not  going  to  run  away,  my 
dear.  Now  I  have  settled  my  dress,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  some- 
thing more  about  Laura,  and  what  time  we  are  to  go,  and  whether 
you  think  the  archery  ground  will  be  damp,  because,  if  so,  I  shall 
send  my  galoshes  ;  and  about  Edward — when  does  Laura  expect 
htm  \     Just  sit  down  quietly,  and  tell  me." 

Gertrude  sighed  inwardly  but  patiently.  The  pettiness  of 
trifling  duties  at  such  a  moment  was  irksome  almost  bevond 
endurance.  _  Once  or  twice  she  felt  an  impulse  to  own  every 
thing.  The  sorrow  must  come  sooner  or  later,  and  the  decep- 
tion seemed  wrong ;  but  then  she  checked  herself  with  the  re- 
membrance that  it  was  not  her  part  to  tell  what  Edward  had 
concealed.  The  trial  ended  at  last.  Mrs.  Courtenay  repeated 
several  times  that  the  carriage  should  be  at  the  door  exactly  at 
half  past  two,  and  that  she  would  put  some  cloaks  and  galoshes 
in,  for  fear  they  should  all  take  cold  ;  and  after  desiring  Ger- 
trude to  send  word  if  Edward  was  arrived,  and  if  she  met 
Edith  to  be  sure  and  tell  her  to  be  in  time,  she  allowed  her  to 
depart. 

"  I  am  half  inclined  to  go  with  you,"  said  Charlotte,  as  they 
met  on  the  hall  steps:  "only  there  is  the  trouble  of  returning." 

Gertrude  did  not  press  the  matter,  for  she  longed  to  be  alone. 
"  You  will  have  fatigue  enough,"  she  said,  "  before  the  day  is 
over  ;  and  if  you  are  not  here,  no  one  will  be  ready  to  start  be- 
fore three  o'clock." 

"  But  that  will  be  time  enough  ;  we  shall  have  plenty  of  ar- 
chery between  that  and  half-past-  four." 

••  Yes,  but  mamma  wishes  it.  She  wants  to  be  at  Allinghan. 
before  any  one  comes,  because  she  dislikes  gom<_r  into  a  crowd. 
Besides,  if  you  slay,  you  can  attend  to  some  little  matters  for 
me.  I  have  looked  out  all  the  things  I  want,  and  ordered  thi  m 
to  be  sent  after  me  directly;  but  i  dare  say  the  servants  will 
forget,  or  send  them  wrong,  if  they  are  no!  watched." 

'•  That  is  the  good  of  having  so  many  idle  people  about,"  said 
Charlotte.  "  However,  we  are  belter  than  at  Allingham.  I 
tried  to  count  the  servants  there  one  day,  and  actually  1  could  not 
do  it,  tin-re  were  such  shadowy  groups  of  kitchen  maids  and 
under-gardeners  in  the  hack  ground.  Rather  expensive  1  should 
think  !   but  Edward  knows  best." 

They  were  Charlotte's  last  words;  and   poor  Gertrude,  as 
she  walked  along,  repeated  them  over  and  over  again  to  h 
self,  though  not  always  attaching  any  meaning  to  them.     S 
wandered  through  the  park,  turning  from  time  to  lime,  ai  the 
fancied  she  heard   the  wheels  of  a  c  or  the  trampling  of 

horses.     It  was  scarcely  possible   thai   Edward   should  have  ar- 


252  GERTRUDE. 


rived ;  but  Gertrude  was  not  in  a  wood  to  calculate  probabili- 
ties ;  and  when  she  distinguished  two  figures,  a  gentleman  am. 
lady,  at  a  little  distance,  the  fancy  crossed  her  that  they  mighl 
be  Edward  and  Laura.  A  second  thought  made  her  smile  al 
the  folly  of  the  supposition,  and  as  she  drew  nearer  she  had 
no  difficulty  in  recognising  Edith  and  Mr.  Dacre.  Edith  was 
standing  under  the  shade  of  the  large  beech,  from  which  the 
full  front  of  Allingham  could  be  seen.  Her  face  was  not  directer1 
to  Mr.  Dacre,  and  she  did  not  appear  engaged  in  conversation 
but  as  she  leant  against  the  huge  trunk,  her  eyes  seemed  bent 
upon  the  ground,  and  when  occasionally  she  raised  her  head  it 
was  but  for  a  moment,  and  immediately  she  resumed  her  former 
dejected  attitude.  Gertrude  hesitated  whether  it  would  be  well 
to  interrupt  them  ;  but  there  was  no  time  to  spare,  and  she  knew 
that  Edith  would  naturally  be  desirous  of  seeing  her ;  and, 
while  she  still  doubted,  Mr.  Dacre  perceived  and  came  up  to 
her.  Gertrude  held  out  her  hand  rather  in  confusion  ;  for  Mr. 
Dacre  might  have  forgotten,  but  she  had  not.  It  was  taken  ex- 
actly as  usual,  and  as  she  looked  towards  Edith,  he  said,  in  a 
tone  of  compassion, — 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  Your  sister  has  been  forcing  me 
to  talk  to  her." 

"  Has  she  indeed  ?"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  and  she  sprang  for- 
wards. 

"  Don't  startle  her,"  said  Mr.  Dacre,  "  she  is  sadly  upset." 

Gertrude's  step  was  stilled  in  an  instant.  "  I  knew  she  must 
feel  it,"  she  said,  "  for  many  reasons — every  reason." 

"  And  you" — he  replied. 

"  Do  not  think  of  me,  hut  teach  me  how  I  may  help  others  to 
bear  it.     Does  Edith  know  all  1" 

"  All  without  reserve.  One  secret  has  been  hers  and  mine 
for  very  long  " 

"Yes,  the  secret — the  foundation  of  every  thing  ;  but  it  is 
useless  to  look  back.  Oh  !  it  Edward  would  come  and  satisfy 
the  one  horrible  doubt  remaining." 

Mr.  Dacre  said  nothing  till  they  drew  near  to  Edith,  when  he 
stopped.  "  You  will  remember,"  he  said,  "  that  you  were  to 
allow  me  to  be  of  use  to  you  under  all  circumstances.  I  shall 
wait  anxiously  to  know  if  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do.  And  now 
good-by  ;  I  do  not  think  we  shall  meet  again  to-day." 

Gertrude  did  not  press  him  to  remain,  for  she  felt  that  his 
presence  might  be  a  restraint;  and  after  watching  him  for  a  few 
moments,  as  he  crossed  the  park  in  the  direction  of  his  own  cot- 
tage, she  walked  on.  Edith  was  still  standing  motionless,  with 
her  head  averted  ;  and  her  name  was  twice  repeated  before  she 
recognised  Gertrude's  voice,  and  turned  towards  her.  A  look 
from  each  told  what  words  could  never  have  expressed  of  sor 


GERTRUDE  253 


row,  and  sympathy,  and  self-reproach  ;  and  Edith,  throwing  her- 
Belt*  into  her  sister's  arms,  wept  long  and  bitterly.  '•  Can  you 
love  me,  Gertrude  1"  were  the  first  words  she  spoke.  *  It  is  my 
doing — misery — misery  for  us  all." 

"  Edith,  dearest,  you  must  not  think  so.  Who  could  bear 
it?" 

"  And  I  cannot  bear  it ;  but  it  is  true — even  you  can  do  no 
good — no  one  can." 

"  That  is  despair,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Is  there  hope,  then  ?     Can  any  thing  save  Edward  1" 

"  Not  from  earthly  trial ;  but,  Edith,  you  know  that  his  present 
suffering  may  be  his  greatest  good." 

"  And  I !"  exclaimed  Edith ;  "  he  will  never  look  upon  me 
with  kindness  ;  and  if  he  does,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  endure  it. 
Gertrude,  no  one  can  tell  how  wrong  I  have  been.  The  world 
will  blame  him,  when  it  is  my  doing.  I  was  every  thins  to  him 
once,  and  I  did  not  act  by  him  as  I  ought."  And  she  again  burst 
into  tears. 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  while  you  are  so  unhappy,"  said  Ger- 
trude, kissing  her  ;  "  but  I  do  not  think  you  will  care  to  hear  what 
I  could  say." 

"  I  would  rather  be  wretched,"  replied  Edith—"  but  must  you 
go?" 

"  Laura  is  expecting  me,  and  it  is  late." 

'Then  go,  go, — do  not  delay  an  instant.  Yet  there  is  no  fear 
— you  will  not  neglect  her,  as  I  have  done." 

"  We  shall  see  each  other  again  to-day,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Not  at  Allingham — it  is  impossible." 

"  But  it  is  Laura's  wish  that  you  should  be  there  ;  and  for  my 
sake  1  hope  you  will  come.  Remember  there  is  no  one  who  can 
('.■.■I  with  me  as  you  do  ;  and  if  Edward  returns  1  inaysadly  want 
some  one." 

"  Fes,  yes,"  sighed  Edith.  "  But  I  am  not  afraid  as  you  arc. 
lie  could  never  be  tempted  to  dishonor." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Gertrude,  doubtfully;  "yet,  at  any  rate, 
I  Bhall  long  for  you  so  much." 

"Am  i   fit  for  it  V  said  Edith.     "I  shall   never  bear  to 
Laura  ;   and    to    hear   her   laugh  would    be  worse    than   any  <>: 

suffering." 

"She  will    not   laugh    much,"    said    Gertrude.      "There    arc 
LingS  upon  her  mind,  as  well  as  upon  ours." 

"  What  things! — what  do  you  mean  ' " 
"  I  cannot  explain  now,  but  you  need  nut  fear  her  cheerfulness  ; 
only  come — it  will  be  such  a  comfort  t<>  feel  you  are  there.' 
"Who  could    deny    you   any  thing,  Gertrude  1"    said    Edith, 

earnestly;  "but  you  would  not  ask  me  if  yen  Knew  .lie  effort  U 
will  be." 


254  GERTRUDE. 


"  The  long  afternoon  alone,"  said  Gertrude,  "  will  be  very  bad. 
If  we  are  together  we  can  at  least  feel  that  we  understand  eacr 
other." 

"  And  you  will  be  lonely  in  a  crowd,"  said  Edith — "lonely  and 
wretched  from  my  doing-.  Gertrude,  there  is  one  thing  you  can 
never  forgive  me — the  church." 

Gertrude  tried  to  conceal  the  exquisite  pain  which  the  allusion 
gave  her,  yet  she  was  not  able.  "  It  is  not  your  doing,"  she 
said  ;  but  her  voice  was  choked. 

"  Yea,  yes,  it  is — it  is  all  my  doing.  I  blamed  Edward  once, 
and  thought  he  had  much  to  answer  for,  because  Torrington  was 
left  without  a  church  ;  and  now  there  might  be  one,  if  I  had  acted 
differently." 

"  There  is  to  be  one,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Is  ! — impossible  !     How  can  you  do  every  thing  V 

"  I  am  not  going  to  do  it, — Mr.  Dacre  is." 

There  was  no  symptom  of  agitation  in  Gertrude's  manner,  and 
Edith  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  and  after  a  minute's  silence 
exclaimed,  "  Is  it  really  true  ?  And  can  you  say  it  so  calmly  ? 
Oh,  Gertrude,  1  shall  never  be  like  you." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  Edith.  If  you  love  me,  never  speak  such 
words  again.  Will  you  come  with  me  now  !"  And  with  a  rapid 
step  Gertrude  walked  towards  the  house. 

"  Not  now,"  said  Edith,  following  her  ;  "  but  I  have  vexed 
you." 

Gertrude's  lip  quivered,  and  her  voice  was  tremulous.  "  No, 
you  never  vex  me  ;  but  I  am  so — I  have  been  so  wrong — I  will 
tell  you  another  time.     Say  you  will  come  by  and  by." 

The  sight  of  Gertrude's  distress  was  decisive.  Edith  con- 
sented, and  the  sisters  parted. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


Who  has  not  experienced  the  weight  which  presses  upon  the 
spirits,  as  the  hour  draws  near  for  the  arrival  of  a  large  party 
when  but  one  wish  is  uppermost  in  the  mind — the  longing  for 
solitude  and  silence !  Gertrude  felt  it  intensely,  as  she  ap- 
proached the  house,  and  saw  the  marquee  erected  on  the  archery 
ground,  and  heard  the  distant  sound  of  the  instruments  which 
the  musicians  were  setting  in  order  for  the  fete.  During  her 
absence  all  the  preparations  had  been  completed  ;  the  hall  was 
dressed  with  flowers,  the  dining-room  glittered  with  glass  and 
plate,  and   the   dancing-room,   its  smooth  floor  and   ornamented 


GERTRUDE.  25o 


walls,  looked  inviting  even  in  the  daylight.  Gertrude  glanced 
into  the  different  rooms,  but  had  no  tune  to  inquire  into  the 
minutias  of  the  arrangements.  It  was  already  a  quarter-past  two, 
and  some  punctual  people  would  be  sure  to  arrive  by  half-past; 
and  almost  dreading  reproaches  for  her  delay,  she  hastened  to 
Laura's  room.  She  was  standing  by  the  window,  her  eyes  di- 
rected to  the  road  by  which  Edward  must  arrive.  Gertrude  en- 
tered unperceived,  and  when  she  gently  said,  "  Did  you  think  I 
should  never  come  ?"  Laura  started,  and  in  a  frightened  voice 
exclaimed,  "  You,  Gertrude!  I  fancied  it  was  Edward." 

"  He  may  be  here  soon,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Have  you  heard  ]  Is  he  come  ?"  exclaimed  Laura,  hurriedly. 

"  No,  no  one  is  come  ;  and  I  have  heard  nothing  :  but  I  am 
so  late — I  must  go  and  dress  quickly.  I  came  though  to  know 
if  you  wanted  any  thins:  first." 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  I  think  I  am  ready  ;  just  look  at  rae  and 
see." 

Gertrude  gazed  with  a  criticizing  eye,  but  the  most  fastidious 
taste  could  scarcely  have  found  any  thing  to  amend  in  the 
simple,  elegant  dress,  which  displayed  Laura's  slight  figure  and 
delicate  features  to  the  fullest  advantage.  She  was  less  pale 
than  she  had  been  in  the  morning,  for  the  flush  of  excitement 
was  tinging  tier  cheek,  and  the  restlessness  of  her  deep  hazel  eye 
had  ceased,  though  in  its  stead  there  remained  an  unnatural 
brilliancy,  which  Gertrude  remarked  with  disquietude. 

••  You  will  find  me  in  the  marquee,"  said  Laura.  "I  suppose 
1  must  go,  and  I  believe  I  am  longing  for  the  fresh  air." 

"  .Mamma  and  my  sisters  will  be  here  presently,"  said  Ger- 
trude ;  '"so  they  will  help  you;  but  I  can  dress  very  quickly 
when  I  try  ;  and  as  I  am  not  the  lady  of  the  house,  ii  won't  so 
much  signify  if  I  am  not  perfect." 

"  Perfect   in    mind,''  said    Laura,  earnestly  ;  hut  Gertrudi 
not  wait  to  hear  the  compliment.     She   was  gone  to  her  own 
room,  to  complete  a  more  hasty  toilette  than  she  had  imagined 
possible  :  but  with   all   her  spued   the  rumble  of  carriages  was 
heard  in  the  park  before  she  could  go  down  stairs. 

"  The  company  are  all  in  the  marquee,  ma'am,"  said  the  butler  : 
".Mrs.  Courtenay,  and  the  young  ladies,  and  Lady  Slapleton, 
and  Sir  Henry  Colburn,  and  Mrs.  Kingwood,  and  Captain  Stuart, 
ind " 

"Poor  Laura!"  thought  Gertrude,  not  anxious  to  heir  any 
pore  arrivals,  and  leaving  the  butler  in  tin;  middle  of  his  buii- 
ence,  she-  hastened  into  the  garden.    Ii  v  a  then  a  brilliant 

.-'■■ne,  filled  with  people,  some  clustered    n  groups  and   i 
in  conversation, — others  wandering  leisurely  through  the  walks, 
— and   a   few,  just   arrived,   lounging   at    the    entrance    ol    the 
Tnarquee.     There  were  bright  d 


256  GERTRUDE. 


and  the  music  was  sounding  joyously,  and  laughter  and  light 
words  were  passing  on  all  sides  ;  and  rich  flowers, — geraniums 
fuchsias,  heliotropes,  and  verbenas,  and  every  choice  treasure  ol 
the  greenhouse, — were  scattered  in  profusion  amid  the  green 
lawns,  and  the  unclouded  splendor  of  a  summer  sun  shed  a  daz- 
zling lustre  over  all  :  but  the  envied  master  of  the  fete,  the 
possessor  of  so  much  beauty,  was — where  1  Few  cared,  though 
many  asked  ;  only  Gertrude,  as  she  heard  the  whispered  inqui- 
ries and  civil  regrets  felt  that  each  word  was  torture,  and 
watched  the  expression  of  the  speakers'  countenances,  and 
weighed  the  accent  of  every  sentence,  to  discover  whether  any 
but  herself  surmised  the  reason  of  his  absence.  It  was  some 
time  before  she  could  make  her  way  to  Laura,  who  was  seated 
in  the  marquee,  with  little  Charlie  by  her  side.  She  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  large  party,  and  talked  quickly  and  gayly.  Her 
eyes  sparkled,  her  mouth  was  brightened  with  smiles,  and  occa- 
sionally the  sound  of  her  silvery  laugh  was  heard,  as  she  replied 
to  some  witty  remark  or  satirical  observation.  Was  there  in- 
deed any  thing  hidden  beneath  I  Was  it  Gertrude's  fancy  that 
the  brilliant  flash  of  the  eyes  was  unnatural, — that  a  convulsive 
movement  as  of  great  pain  made  her  suddenly  raise  her  hand  to 
her  head  !  and  in  that  clear,  sweet  voice  could  it  be  true  that 
there  was  discoverable  a  secret  tone  of  anguish  1  If  it  were  so, 
none  perceived  it  but  Gertrude.  Lovely  and  fascinating  as 
Laura  had  always  been  considered,  on  that  day  she  was  thought 
to  surpass  even  her  former  self.  Praises  of  her  dress,  and  man- 
ner, and  beauty,  were  circulated  on  all  sides  ;  and  even  in  the 
midst  of  her  anxiety,  Gertrude  could  not  help  feeling  pleasure 
as  she  looked  at  her.  But  the  pleasure  was  momentary, — the 
pain  that  followed  lasting.  As  the  music  ceased  for  a  few 
minutes,  the  rumble  of  a  carriage  was  heard,  and  Laura's  eye 
was  in  an  instant  directed  to  the  turn  of  the  winding  road 
through  the  park.  Some  one  spoke  to  her,  and  she  laughed  ; 
but  the  remark  that  was  made  could  not  have  been  the  cause  ; 
for  she  blushed,  and  apologized,  and  again  gazed  into  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  Laura,  my  dear,  Mrs.  Ferrers  is  waiting  to  introduce  her 
daughter,"  whispered  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  most  happy  ;"  but  Laura's  head  was  fixed  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and  Mrs.  Ferrers  looked  haughty  and  an- 
noyed, while  her  timid  daughter  seemed  ready  to  hide  herself  in 
the  farthest  corner  to  escape  observation. 

"  Laura,  my  dear  Laura" — and  Mrs.  Courtenay  touched  hei 
arm. 

"  It  is  not  Edward,"  said  Gertrude,  in  a  low  voice. 

Laura  breathed  more  freely ;  and  without  attempting  ac 
JXi'use,  received  the  introduction  as  if  nothing  had  been  amiss 


GERTRUDE.  257 


Mrs.  Ferrers  was  stiff  and  cool,  but  her  annoyance  was  thrown 
away.  Gertrude  felt  vexed,  and  moving  from  her  seat,  offered 
it  as  a  little  atoning  civility.  It  was  accepted,  and  conversation 
followed  as  a  matter  of  course.  Mrs.  Ferrers  had  never  been 
at  Allingham  since  it  came  into  Mr.  Courtenay's  possession, 
except  at  a  morning  visit  ;  she  had  no  idea  of  the  beauty  of  the 
grounds — they  were  so  extensive — Mr.  Courtenay  must  have 
such  good  taste,  they  were  so  well  laid  out.  She  remembered 
them  in  Colonel  Courtenay's  time,  but  now  they  were  complete- 
ly altered.  The  observations  were  very  natural  and  civil  ;  but 
to  Gertrude  thev  were  fretting,  so  that  she  could  scarcely  listen 
to  them  wirh  p:itieuce.  From  the  mamma  she  turned  to  the 
young  lady,  but  it  w;is  the  same  thing.  What  else  could  t 
say  upon  such  a  short  acquaintance  ?  Gertrude  felt  herself  un- 
just and  started  another  topic.  The  charms  of  archery — the 
difficulty  of  practising — the  good  excuse  it  formed  for  bringing 
people  together.  She  knew  exactly  what  to  say,  for  everybody 
makes  the  same  observations  at  archery  meetings,  and  she  could 
almost  have  repeated  the  words  in  her  sleep ;  and  whilst  she 
was  able  to  keep  to  this  subject,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  watch- 
ing Laura,  thinking  of  Edward,  and  noticing  every  one  who 
passed,  to  endeavor  to  find  out  if  Miss  Forester  had  made  her 
appearance.  But  Mrs.  Ferrers  grew  tired  of  her  secluded  posi- 
tion, and  proposed  to  walk,  and  Gertrude  had  no  excuse  for  not 
accompanying  her.  Miss  Ferrers  did  not  shoot,  and  took  no 
particular  interest  in  the  amusement ;  and  she  thought  it  would 
be  extremely  pleasant  to  stroll  through  the  gardens  ;  and  then 
Gertrude's  penance  again  began.  She  was  stopped  every  live 
minutes  with  admiration,  inquiries,  and  regrets, — forced  to  ex- 
plain where  Edward  was, — when  he  was  expected, — condoled 
with  upon  the  prospect  of  a  new  election,  but  congratulated  that 
Mr.  Courtenay's  success  was  certain.  Even  Mrs.  Ferrers 
laughed  at  hearing  the  same  things  repeated  from  all  quarters. 

"A  tax  for  being  related  to  a  distinguished  person,"  she  said. 
"  One  is  so  thankful  for  one's  insignificance  on  these  occasions. 
However,  it  is  better  than  being  distinguished  in  any  other  ■• 
It  would  be  dreadful   to  go  through   the  world  with   a  story  at- 
tached to  one's  name." 

Gertrude  assented  heartily.  She  felt  as  if  the  Btory  of  her 
name  had  already  begun.  "  Will  you  rest  here  '"  she  said, 
pointing  to  a  bench  upon  a  high  green  hank,  which  commanded 
a  view  of  the  gardens  and  archery  ground,  h  was  the  favorite 
point,  and  several  parties  had  already  collected  there  :  and  G 
trude  hoped  that  amongst  so  many  she    might    be   Spared  the  ,  \ 

ertion  of  entertaining,  at  least  for  a  lew  minutes.     She  began  to 
be  Beriously  uncomfortable    at   the    effect  which    Edward's    in.n- 

urrival  might  have  upon  Laura,  and  vexed  with  hei  elffoi  hav- 


258  GERTRUDE. 


ing  left  her  ;  and  she  dreaded  also  the  appearance  of  Miss  For- 
ester, and  the  first  meeting  in  her  absence,  which  would  bring 
back  so  much  that  was  painful,  and  might  even  induce  Laura  to 
give  some  open  expression  of  her  feelings.  But  it  was  useless 
to  gaze  upon  the  marquee,  and  try  to  find  out  what  was  going 
on,  for  Gertrude  was  still  kept  a  prisoner.  Kind  friends  crowded 
around  her,  and  Miss  Ferrers,  frightened  at  so  many  strangers, 
suggested  that,  instead  of  remaining  where  they  were,  they 
should  walk  up  and  down  the  pathway  below,  whilst  her  mamma 
rested.  Gertrude's  consideration  made  her  fully  alive  to  the 
poor  girl's  embarrassment ;  but  just  as  they  were  leaving  the 
little  hill  she  caught  sight  of  a  bonnet  with  a  profusion  of  feath- 
ers, and  a  rich  satin  dress,  glancing  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  the 
glitter  of  a  snake  in  Gertrude's  eyes,  but  she  did  her  utmost  to 
feel  charitable.  Miss  Forester  was  accompanied  by  her  father, 
and  advancing  to  the  marquee  ;  and  Gertrude,  as  she  watched 
her,  and  thought  of  Laura,  forgot  that  she  might  appear  rude, 
and  making  a  sudden  apology,  committed  Miss  Ferrers  to  the 
charge  of  an  elderly  lady  who  was  standing  near,  and  quickly 
retraced  her  steps.  Miss  Forester  saw  and  came  towards  her — 
a  smile  full  of  contemptuous  meaning  was  on  her  lips.  They 
met  in  silence,  and  bowed  ;  General  Forester  bowed  too.  Ger- 
trude could  not  understand  the  expression  of  his  face  ;  it  was  not 
contemptuous,  but  triumphant.  They  passed  on  to  the  marquee, 
Gertrude  longing  to  give  Laura  warning  ;  but  she  was  just  then 
engaged  in  showing  the  prizes  which  were  to  be  distributed,  and 
the  people  were  standing  round  and  admiring  them.  Jane, 
wrapped  in  an  Indian  shawl,  was  seated  by  her ;  and  Mrs. 
Courtenay,  in  a  state  of  nervous  bustle,  was  insisting  that  no 
one  could  see  either  the  ring  or  the  pencil  case  in  such  a  bad 
light;  but  Edith  and  Charlotte  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Gertrude  narrowly  observed  Laura's  countenance,  and  as  she 
did  so,  felt  thankful  for  the  crowd  which  kept  Miss  Forester  from 
her  view.  Her  face  was  flushed,  the  blue  veins  in  her  transpar- 
ent forehead  were  swollen  with  agitation,  her  hands  trembled, 
and  from  time  to  time  she  cast  a  quick  glance  behind,  and  then 
with  a  slight  shudder  began  talking  rapidly.  Charlie  still  stood 
by  her  side,  amused,  and  wondering  ;  and  sometimes,  as  Laura 
looked  at  his  innocent  face,  and  heard  him  admired  and  petted, 
she  smiled  with  a  natural  and  happy  smile  ;  but  in  another  mo- 
ment the  smile  was  gone,  and  in  its  stead  came  a  forced  hollow 
laugh. 

It  is  a  miserable  thing  to  see  too  deeply  behind  the  exterior 
of  any  scene  of  earthly  enjoyment.  Gertrude  marvelled,  as  she 
saw  the  gayety,  and  listened  to  the  mirth  around  her.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  all  should  be  deceived  ;  there  must  be  some  who 
felt  with  her — who  knew  that   Laura   was  wretched,  and   El- 


GERTRUDE.  259 


ward  ruined.  They  were  but  acting  a  part,  and  in  a  few  min 
utes  the  veil  would  be  cast  aside,  and  the  name  of  Courtenay 
would  be  a  mark  for  their  ridicule  and  contempt.  The  thought 
was  in  her  heart,  and  she  turned  and  saw  Miss  Forester's  eye 
fixed  upon  her,  and  at  the  same  instant  a  voice  whispered  in  her 
ear — 

"  I  was  anxious  to  teU  you,  a  friend  of  mine  saw  Mr.  Cour- 
tenay, yesterday,  in  London.  He  was  at  one  of  the  Treasury 
offices.     I  knew  you  would  like  to  hear  of  him." 

If  Miss  Forester  desired  revenge,  she  had  it  to  the  utmost  of 
her  wishes.  Gertrude's  face  became  deadly  pale,  but  the  tone 
in  which  sh"e  said  "who  saw  him?"  was  calm,  from  the  very 
excess  of  her  anxiety.  Before  she  could  receive  an  answer  there 
was  a  movement  in  the  party,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay's  hand  was 
stretched  out  to  greet  Miss  Forester. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  I  did  not  see  you  before.  Have  you  looked 
at  the  prizes  yet?  I  suppose  you  have  though;  Laura  told  me 
they  were  your  ordering." 

Laura  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  own  name.  Miss  Forester 
approached  sweetly  and  courteously  as  usual,  but  Laura  seemed 
spell-bound.  Miss  Forester  was  resolved  that  there  should 
be  no  appearance  of  a  diminution  of  intimacy,  and  unheeding 
Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  held  up  the  prizes  before  her,  she  bent 
forward,  and  taking  Laura's  unresisting  hand,  said — 

"  I  am  afraid  vou  must  have  thought  me  very  remiss  in  not 
being  with  you  the  last  two  days,  but  I  assure  you  it  was  not  my 
own  doing." 

"  Laura,"  interrupted  Gertrude,  who,  forgetting  every  thing 
but  her  dread  lest  her  sister  might  betray  her  feelings  too  strong- 
ly, had  pressed  forward  behind  Miss  Forester,  "1  think  you  are 
wanted  in  front;  there  are  many  persons  wishing  to  see  you, 
and  you  are  quite  hidden  here." 

Poor  Laura  gazed  upon  Gertrude  as  upon  a  guardian  angel. 
She  put  her  arm  within  hers,  as  if  for  support;  and  Gertrude 
passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  her  trembling  fingers,  and  led 
lier  from  the  marquee. 

"Gertrude,   my  dear,"  exclaimed   Mrs.   Courtenay,  "if  yon 
are  going  to  walk,  do  see  if  you  can  meet  Charlotte  and    Edith, 
They  were  to  have  conn:  with  ns,  but   Edith  was  not  ready,  and 
so  1  sent  the  carriage  back.     Hut  they  ought  to  have  been  hi 
long  ago,  and  they  will  miss  the  best  pari  of  the  day." 

'■Shall  1  look  for  them?"  said  Mis  Forester,  following,  and 
though  slightly  abashed  at  her  reception,  determined  to  be  one 
of  the  family.     Laura  looked  beseeching!)  al  ter. 

"Take  me  away,  Gertrude,"  Bhe  said  in  a  fainl  voice;  "1 
am  so  ill ;  I  cannot  bear  it.     If  they  would  only  go,  all  of  them. 

"Perhaps,  mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  "you  would  like  to  walk 


260  GERTRUDE. 


round  with  Miss  Forester.  It  is  not  far,  and  you  will  be  amusea 
to  see  what  is  going  on." 

"Oh!  yes,  my  dear,  the  very  thing ;  and  Charlie,  little  dar- 
ling, shall  come  too.     Jane,  you  can  take  care  of  him." 

Jane  consented,  though  unwillingly,  and  Miss  Forester,  hav- 
ing no  objection  ready,  was  obliged  to  set  off,  with  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay  by  her  side.  Gertrude  felt  that  she  had  secured  their 
absence  at  least  for  half  an  hour,  and  seeing  that  Laura  looked 
relieved  and  tranquil,  persuaded  her  to  stay  and  watch  the  arch- 
ery, and  pay  a  few  necessary  attentions  to  her  guests ;  but  she 
soon  repented  having  done  so.  The  last  round  was  shot,  and 
the  marks  were  counted  ;  and  when  this  business  was  trans- 
acted, the  prizes  were  brought  to  Laura  to  be  presented.  All 
who  had  not  seen  them  came  to  look  at  them,  and  among  them 
Mrs.  Ferrers  and  her  daughter.  Mrs.  Ferrers  was  a  connois- 
seur in  jewellery,  and  admired  in  the  warmest  terms.  She  had 
never  seen  any  thing  so  perfect  as  the  workmanship  of  the  ring; 
she  remembered  to  have  seen  one  like  it  in  some  great  shop  in 
town. 

"  Hanson's,  I  think,  mamma,"  said  Miss  Ferrers. 

"Hanson's,  was  it?  Yes,  I  think  you  are  right.  Every 
one  deals  with  Hanson  :  the  taste  of  his  things  is  so  perfect. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Courtenay?" 

Laura's  reply  was  indistinct,  and  Gertrude  felt  extremely  un- 
comfortable. 

"  Tremendously  expensive,  Hanson  is,"  said  an  officer,  taking 
up  the  ring. 

"  And  so  enticing,"  observed  Mrs.  Ferrers.  "  You  can  never 
escape  from  him.     He  has  such  a  way  of  recommending  things." 

"  There  will  be  a  law  against  ladies  entering  his  shop  by-and- 
by,"  said  Captain  Stuart;  "  at  least  I  am  inclined  to  think  I  shall 
make  one  when  I  have  a  wife." 

"  She  will  rebel." 

"  Very  possibly,  but  I  suspect  I  should  prove  the  conqueror." 

"  He  has  never  tried,  Mrs.  Courtenay,"  said  Mrs.  Ferrers, 
laughing ;  "  and  I  don't  think  either  you  or  I  should  advise  him 
to  make  the  experiment." 

Laura  clung  to  her  sister's  arm,  and  trembled  violently  ;  and 
Gertrude  looked  round  for  some  opening  to  escape,  or  change 
fhe  conversation,  but  in  vain. 

"  It  is  very  well  for  ladies  to  talk,"  continued  Captain  Stuart ; 
"  but  there  are  occasions  on  which  a  man  must  have  his  own 
way.  A  friend  of  mine  was  ruined  the  other  day  by  his  wife, 
and  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  case  beyond  forgiveness." 

Laura  uttered  a  faint  exclamation,  which  to  Gertrude's  ear 
was  agony. 

"  Hark,    there   is   a   flourish  !"    exclaimed.    Captain   Stuart ; 


GERTRUDE.  261 


"  now  we  shall  hear  who  has  been  the  winner.     Mrs.  Courtenay 
allow  me  to  give  you  the  prizes." 

Gertrude  took  them,  for  Laura's  hand  was  powerless. 

"  Only  for  one   moment   exert  yourself,"  she  whispered  :  "  it 
must  soon  be  over  ;  you  can  sit  down  for  a  minute." 

There  was  a  little  bustle  of  preparation,  and  an  opening  was 
made  for  the  successful  archeress.  She  was  young,  interesting, 
and  happy-looking ;  and  as  she  came  forward,  Gertrude  felt 
painfully  the  contrast  between  Laura's  expression  of  misery, 
and  the  brightness  of  one  who  appeared  never  to  have  known 
care.  Laura,  rose  ;  and  Gertrude  once  more  whispered  to  her 
to  be  calm.  Again,  for  the  last  time,  the  bugle  sounded.  Was 
it  the  rattle  of  a  carriage  which  jarred  with  the  lingering  notes  ] 
A  thick  shrubbery  divided  the  archery  ground  from  the  road  ; 
and  no  one  could  see.  Laura  held  the  brooch  in  her  hand,  but 
her  lips  were  parched,  her  voice  was  choked.  Every  one  lis- 
tened instinctively.  The  carriage  rolled  on,  but  stopped  before 
it  could  have  reached  the  house,  and  the  attention  of  all  was 
directed  to  the  path  leading  into  the  park.  It  must  be  Edv»ard 
Gertrude's  countenance  showed  that  she  had  little  doubt,  and 
Laura's  face  became  crimson  and  pale  at  each  instant.  Some 
few  advanced  beyond  the  rest,  and  Mr.  Courtenay's  name  was 
repeated  on  all  sides.  Laura  caught  the  sound,  and  the  ring 
dropped  from  her  hand.  She  withdrew  herself  from  Gertrude's 
grasp,  and  rushed  forward  ;  but  as  she  came  in  sight  of  her 
husband,  a  miserable  fear  overpowered  her,  and  she  stood  mo- 
tionless. Gertrude  watched  her  with  mingled  interest  and 
alarm,  and  would  have  followed,  but  Edward  was  close  at  hand. 
His  step  was  firm,  his  manner  collected,  and  his  countenance — 
what  would  not  Gertrude  have  given  to  read  it  !  lie  came 
near  to  Laura,  but  she  did  not  move  ;  he  held  out  his  hand,  but 
her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  ground.  (Gertrude  feared  that  she 
would  faint,  but  in  another  moment  the  charm  of  his  voice  had 
broken  the  spell  ;  she  started,  and  raised  her  head  ;  and  when 
the  crowd,  which  at  this  moment  pressed  in  front,  again  sepa 
rated,  Gertrude  saw  her  advancing  towards  her,  leaning  upon 
Edward's  arm. 

Could  it  be  pleasure  that  made  Gertrude  smile,  and  step  for- 
ward, and  speak  words  of  congratulation  1  She  did  not  know. 
All  that  sne  did  or  said  was  mechanical.  She  saw  thai  Lai  i 
was  composed,  but  in  exterior  only  ;  that  her  manner  to  Ed- 
ward was  restrained,  and  tint  he  was  noticing  and  suffei 
from  h.  He  turned  to  hex  perpetually,  and  Beemed  with  diffi- 
culty to  show  the  proper  courte  ie  to  hi  friends;  but  Gertrude 
eould  discover  nothing  of  that  which  she  bo  longed  to  be  told  : 
only  once,  when  General  Fore  ter  wa  i  en  at  a  little  di  tanco, 
t'.dward's    brow    darkened,    ami    his    voice    grew   louder,   U    hu 


26"2  GERTRUDE. 


asked  a  few  rapid  questions  of  a  gentleman  who  was  near  him. 
Laura  noticed  him  too,  and  trembled,  but  Gertrude  was  prevent- 
ed from  observing  any  thing  further.  There  was  a  general 
movement  towards  the  house,  and  in  the  crush  she  was  sepa- 
rated from  her  own  party.  With  her  usual  thought  she  looked 
round  for  her  mother,  and  seeing  her  with  no  one  but  little  Char- 
lie at  some  distance,  was  hurrying  towards  her,  when  she  was 
stopped  in  one  of  the  walks  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Edit} 
and  Charlotte. 

"  Gertrude  running  so  fast !  what  a  dignified  proceeding  !' 
began  Charlotte,  in  a  laughing  tone. 

"Hush!  hush!"  exclaimed  Edith;  "something  is  going  on. 
Edward  is  come,  I  am  sure." 

"  Well !  suppose  he  is,  what  does  it  signify  1  A  very  pleas- 
ant surprise  it  will  be.  Why  should  you  all  look  like  frightened 
hares  1" 

"  Charlotte,  Charlotte,  pray  don't  talk  so.  Is  he  come,  Ger- 
trude ]" 

"Yes,  don't  keep  me.     I  am  going  to  mamma." 

"  But  you  have  seen  him — what  does  he  say  ?" 

"Never  mind,"  interrupted  Charlotte.  "Don't  you  see  that 
Gertrude  is  in  an  agony  at  being  kept  '  you  are  so  tiresome, 
Edith  !" 

"  Only  one  word." 

"  I  have  scarcely  spoken  to  him,"  replied  Gertrude,  and  with- 
out waiting  for  another  question,  she  went  on. 

"  Mystery  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte.  "  You  do  delight  in  it, 
Edith ;  and  Gertrude  too — I  really  am  angry  with  her." 

"  Gertrude  !"  exclaimed  Edith,  "  she  is  an  angel,  if  you  did 
but  know  it." 

Charlotte  laughed,  and  Edith  suddenly  stopped.  "  I  cannol 
go  with  you,"  she  said  ;  "  I  told  you  I  should  be  much  better  at 
home." 

"  This  is  mere  folly,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  after  I  have  wasted 
the  whole  afternoon  for  you,  and  taken  the  trouble  to  dress  you, 
and  make  you  look  respectable,  (for  you  were  any  thing  but  that 
before,)  why  should  you  be  so  tormenting  1  I  can't  go  on  the 
ground  alone." 

"  Stay,  there  is  the  bell,"  said  Edith  ;  "  dinner  will  be  ready- 
in  a  few  minutes  :  let  us  wait  here  till  afterwards." 

"  Thank  you,  what  good  will  that  do  to  either  of  us  ?" 

"  I  cannot  see  Edward,"  exclaimed  Edith  :  "it  will  drive  my 
wild." 

"You  will  drive  me  wild,  Edith,  and  I  will  not  put  up  with 
it.  I  am  your  sister,  and  I  have  a  right  to  know  things  as  well 
as  you." 

"  A  right  1  yes  :  but  if  it  is  to  make  you  wretched  !" 


GERTRUDE.  263 

"  Then  let  me  be  wretched  :  it  is  not  my  fashion  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  survive  it." 

Edith  hesitated,  and  longed  for  Gertrude  to  decide  whether 
she  should  tell.  Charlotte  held  her  firmly  :"  I  am  resolved,'' 
she  said  :  "  we  will  neither  of  us  go  until  I  have  learnt  all." 

"Then  have  your  will — Edward  is  a  ruined  man." 

The  words  were  just  uttered,  when  the  band  struck  up  a 
joyous  air,  and  the  larger  portion  of  the  company  crowded  into 
the  walk.  Charlotte  stood  aside  to  allow  them  to  pass  ;  and 
before  she  could  reply  to  Edith,  Gertrude  and  her  mother  came 
up. 

"  Take  care  of  mamma,  Charlotte,''  said  Gertrude.  "  Jane 
is  behind  somewhere,  and  I  must  carry  Charlie  to  his  nurse." 

Charlotte  felt  it  was  no  moment  for  explanations,  but  she 
caught  Gertrude's  arm,  and  said  hurriedly,  "Is  it  true]  Is 
Edith  dreaming  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — who  told — ask  nothing  now,"  exclaimed 
Gertrude  ;  and  taking  the  child  by  the  hand,  she  led  him  away. 

"  Charlotte,  my  dear,  don't  you  see  you  are  in  the  way  I" 
said  Mrs.  Courtenay.     "  Move,  my  love,  move." 

Charlotte  looked  round — Edith  was  gone,  and  Gertrude  ; 
before  her  were  passing  groups  of  the  gay,  the  beautiful,  and 
the  wealthy,  and  on  all  sides  were  sounds  of  mirth  and  light- 
hearted  enjoyment.  How  could  the  words  she  had  heard  be 
true  ] 

"  Charlotte,  my  dear,  you  have  lost  your  senses ;  pray  come 
on,  we  shall  be  very  late."  Mrs.  Courtenay  spoke  in  a  tone 
which  for  her  expressed  great  irritation.  "  You  know  there  will 
be  such  a  crush  presently.  I  wish  I  had  not  been  so  foolish  as 
to  send  General  Forester  away  ;  but  I  wanted  him  to  speak  to 
Edward.  I  was  just  going  alter  him  to  shake  hands  with  Ed- 
ward myself,  when  Gertrude  came,  and  1  meant  to  have  jot 
into  the  house  before  any  one  to  avoid  the  bustle,  but  it  has  all 
gone  wrong  together." 

Charlotte  silently  offered  her  arm,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay's 
mind  was  in  a  few  minutes  relieved,  by  the  approach  of  a  gen- 
tleman who  proffered  his  services.  They  passed  on  to  the 
house.     Charlotte's  eye  sought  her  brother  ;i  elf 

at  the  dinner-table,  but  his  place  was  empty,  and   some  nun 
elapsed  before  he  appeared. 

"Mr.  Courtenay  is  looking  remarkably  well— don't  you  think 
so?"  observed  Charlotte's  right-hand  neighbor. 

'•  Yes,  very." 

"And  such  an  unexpected  pleasure  il  is,  his  having  arrived 
in  time.     Every  one  had  given  him  up." 

"  Yes,  every  one." 

•'  ,'Iis  stay  in  town  must  hive  been  extremely  sleet  ;  but  rail 


204  GERTRUDE. 


roads  make  travelling  a  mere  farce  compared  with  what  it  used 
to  be." 

"  Certainly — it  is  very  different." 

There  v/as  a  silence.  Charlotte  Courtenay  was  generally 
considered  a  lively,  agreeable  person,  but  at  her  brother's  table 
on  that  day  she  did  not  shine. 

"  My  master  begs  you  will  drink  wine  with  him,  ma'am," 
said  the  butler  to  Mrs.  Courtenay. 

Edward  looked  down  the  table.  "  My  dear  mother,  you  will 
excuse  me  ;  it  is  very  old-fashioned,  but  we  have  not  met  before 
to-day." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  was  proud  and  pleased.  Her  son  never  for- 
got her,  and  she  murmured  her  satisfaction  to  Charlotte.  "  Dear 
Edward  !  he  is  so  unlike  other  people — so  very  considerate,  and 
it  is  such  pleasure  to  have  him  here.  The  party  would  have 
been  nothing  without  him.  And  did  you  ever  see  a  table  so 
beautifully  laid  out  1  Just  look  at  the  flowers  in  the  vases,  and 
all  those  curious  pastry  and  sugar  figures,  and  the  cut  glass  and 
plate  :  how  well  it  is  all  arranged  !  Dickson  is  a  very  clever 
person,  certainly.     I  suppose  she  managed  it  all." 

"  I  don't  know;  I  suppose  so." 

"  Courtenay,"  exclaimed  Charlotte's  discomfited  neighbor, 
"  you  cut  me  dead,  yesterday." 

"Yesterday!" — Edward  stopped,  as  he  was  about  to  address 
an  observation  to  the  lady  on  his  right  hand — "  I  was  not  here !" 

"  No,  nor  I  neither.  We  passed  each  other  as  you  were 
coming  out  of  one  of  the  Treasury  offices.  If  you  were  not  near- 
sighted I  should  have  thought  they  had  been  making  a  great 
man  of  you,  and  given  you  a  fit  of  pride." 

"  Ah  !  indeed  ! — stupid  fellow  !  don't  you  see  what  you  have 
donel" 

A  plate  of  blanc-mange  fell  from  the  hands  of  one  of  the 
servants ;  Edward  bent  his  head,  and  trusted  that  Lady  Pau- 
lett's  dress  was  not  hurt,  and  then  turned  angrily  to  the  man.  A 
little  confusion  followed.  Lady  Paulett's  dress  was  very  much 
spotted,,  and  Edward  was  still  more  provoked.  The  servant 
apologized  humbly,  and  retired  as  quickly  as  possible  to  com- 
plain to  his  companions  that  Mr.  Courtenay  caused  the  accident 
himself,  and  afterwards  laid  the  blame  upon  him.  Charlotte 
watched  the  scene,  but  discovered  in  it  nothing  unusual,  and 
Edith  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  watched  too,  and  per- 
haps saw  deeper  into  its  meaning.  And  Gertrude — in  a  distant 
corner  of  the  room,  at  a  side-table,  she  was  engaged  in  making 
herself  agreeable  to  a  little  knot  of  young  boys,  invited  out  of 
mere  compliment,  who  from  shyness  and  awkwardness  had  been 
the  stragglers  of  the  party,  and  suffered  the  usual  fate  of  boya 
in   a   large    party — no  seats,    and    very    indifferent    attendance 


GEATRCDC  2)5 


Whether  she  noticed  much  beyond  what  was  passing  immedi- 
ately around  her,  none  but  a  very  keen  observer  would  have 
perceived.  Several  times,  indeed,  she  moved  her  seat  so  as 
to  obtain  a  view  of  Laura,  and  once  she  forgot  to  answer  a  ques- 
tion ;  but  beyond  this  her  whole  mind  seemed  given  to  the  task 
of  entertainment.  Enjoyment  was  the  ostensible  object  of  the 
meeting,  and  enjoyment  all  seemed  determined  to  have,  Laura 
not  excepted.  Gertrude  distinguished  her  laugh,  and  saw  that  she 
was  eager  in  conversation  ;  and  her  mind  rested  contented,  for 
she  had  lately  learnt  to  feel  that,  under  some  circumstances 
"  sufficient"  unto  the  hour,  as  well  as  the  dav,  "  is  the  evil  there- 
of." Yet  the  ordeal  was  a  trying  one.  The  highest  principle 
will  scarcely  stand  the  wearying  exertion  of  appearing  gay 
when  the  heart  is  sad,  for  any  length  of  time  ;  and  Gertrude's 
spirits  nearly  failed  her  before  the  ladies  rose  from  the  table. — 
The  change  was  a  relief,  but  only  a  temporary  one.  Laura's 
face  told  a  tale  of  hidden  suffering:,  which  Gertrude  trembled  to 
see;  and  her  first  entreaty  was,  that  she  would  leave  the  pariv, 
and  go  to  her  room.  "  For  an  hour,  only  for  an  hour,  dearest," 
she  said  ;  "  we  will  do  every  thing  that  is  wanted,  and  you  shall 
appear  again  when  the  dancing  begins." 

Laura  shook  her  head  :  "  You  don't  know  what  you  are  ad- 
vising, Gertrude.  Feel."  And  she  put  her  hand  within  Ger- 
trude's. It  was  burning  with  fever.  "  I  must  stay,"  she  said  : 
"  an  hour's  rest  would  be  no  rest, — only  do  not  leave  me  :  my 
head  is  giddv — I  cannot  trust  myself;  and  I  might  be  obliged  to 
talk — Miss  Forester  might  come;  I  know  her  eyes  are  fixed  on 
me  now  ;  I  feel  them  whenever  I  move  ;  but  she  shall  nut  see. 
Gertrude,  she  sat  near  me  at  dinner.     Did  yon  hear  me  laugh  !" 

"Ah!  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay,  who  had  over- 
heard the  last  words,  "  I  wanted  to  know  what  you  were  so  merry 
about.  It  did  one's  heart  good  to  hear  you.  1  must  tell  you," 
she  added,  lowering  her  voice,  "every  thing  was  so  very  nice  ; 
I  was  so  charmed  that  it  went  oil  well — all  but  poor  Lady  l'au- 
lett's  gown — dear  me  !  there  she  is  sitting  alone  ;  I  must  really 
go  and  ask  her  whether  any  thing  can  be  done  about  it." 

Laura  followed,  glad  to  have  some  excuse  for  moving;  and 
Gertrude,  rousing  herself  to  exertion,  did  her  best  to  make  the 
next  hour  pass  agreeably.  She  was  hit  almost  alone  to  the  (ask, 
for  Jane  was  tired,  and  Charlotte  and  Edith  were  gone.  <• 
irude  from  their  window  perceived  them  once  ;ii  the  farther  i  nd 
of  the  colonnade.  They  wen;  talking  earnestly;  but  a*  tl 
turned  the  angle  of  the"  house,  she  lost  sight  of  them.  Their 
conversation  was  no  mystery — nothing  was  a  m  now  hut 

Edward's  journey,  and  Miss  Fore  ter's  meani  le. 

12 


266  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

"  The  dancing  is  just  going  to  begin,  my  dear  ;  where  are  youi 
sisters  ?" 

Mrs.  Courtenay's  voice  awoke  Jane  from  a  revery.  "  Ger- 
trude, mamma,  do  you  mean?  There  she  is,  talking  to  that 
young  lady  in  blue." 

"  No,  not  Gertrude,  but  the  others." 

"  Oh !  never  mind,  they  can  take  care  of  themselves.  Look, 
mamma,  that  really  is  perfect." 

The  folding  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  a  sudden  blaze 
burst  upon  the  spectators.  The  splendid  drawing-room,  appa- 
rently forming  but  the  ante-room  to  the  illuminated  conserva- 
tory, glittered  as  if  by  magic  lights,  sparkling  amid  dark  leaves 
and  gay  wreaths,  and  reflected,  again  and  again,  from  opposite 
glasses. 

"  Charlotte's  work, — how  beautiful !"  exclaimed  Jane  ;  "  what 
pleasure  she  will  have  in  seeing  it !" 

A  heavy  sigh,  so  close  as  to  be  heard  even  among  the  mur- 
murs of  admiration,  was  the  answer.  Charlotte  was  standing 
near  them  in  the  doorway. 

"  My  dear,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Courtenay,  going  up  to  her,  "  I 
have  been  looking  for  you  so  long.  Captain  Stuart  has  been 
asking  for  you  ;  he  wants  you  to  dance  the  first  quadrille." 
"  Me  1  I  can't  dance  ;  don't  let  him  ask  me." 
"  My  dear  Charlotte,  you  are  foolish.  What  did  you  come 
here  for  but  to  dance  ?  Do  persuade  her,  Jane.  Where  is  Ger- 
trude]    I  do  hope  some  one  will  make  her  do  it." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  became  agitated,  as  she  often  did  when 
other  persons  would  have  been  out  of  temper. 

"  Yes,  where  is  Gertrude  ?"  exclaimed  Charlotte  ;  and  with- 
out attending  to  her  mother  she  moved  away. 

The  music  sounded,  and  dancing  commenced  ;  but  Gertrude 
was  not  seen.  Standing  in  a  coiner  of  the  library  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  drawing-room,  she  was  watching  with  breathless 
interest  the  progress  of  a  conversation  between  Edward  and 
General  Forester,  who,  taking  advantage  of  the  noise  and  gayety, 
were  evidently  engaged  in  a  discussion  of  no  light  moment 
General  Forester's  manner  was  eager   and    authoritative;    hia 


GERTRUDE.  237 


arm  was  occasionally  stretched  out,  as  if  forgetting  the  attention 
he  might  attract  in  the  importance  of  the  question  ;  and  once  his 
hand  was  placed  upon  Mr.  Courtenay's  shoulder,  with  the  fa- 
miliarity of  an  old,  long-tried  friend.  And  Gertrude's  longing 
desire  to  discover  as  much,  at  least,  as  Edward's  countenance 
could  reveal,  was  granted.  Pride  was  stamped  upon  his  noble 
brow,  and  bitter  thoughts  of  scorn  curled  his  lip.  He  leant  against 
the  doorway,  and  his  foot  moved  with  restless  impatience,  but  his 
eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  ground,  and  when  from  time  to  time 
he  raised  them  there  was  that  in  their  expression  from  which 
Gertrude  shrank.  Was  it  her  brother  1 — was  it  Edward?  with 
his  high  principles,  and  splendid  talents,  and  strong  resolution. 
Could  he  be  reckless  and  despairing  ]  Oh  !  who  shall  smile  at 
weakness,  and  think  lightly  of  vacillation,  when  they  may  be  the 
first  steps  on  the  downward  road  to  ruin  1 

The  music  ceased,  and  the  hum  of  merry  voices  rose  around. 
Gertrude  heard  her  name  repeated,  and  ventured  forth.  It  was 
only  her  mother  inquiring  where  she  had  been  hiding  herself; 
but  when  she  had  once  appeared  there  was  no  retiring  again.  To 
dance  was  not  necessary,  but  to  assist  Laura  was.  Yet,  was  the 
exertion  possible  ?  She  stood  by  Laura's  side,  but  her  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  Edward  ;  she  moved,  but  her  attention  was  still  di- 
rected to  him ;  she  knew  the  precise  moment  when  he  ceased 
speaking  to  General  Forester  ;  she  saw  the  effort  with  which  he 
engaged  in  conversation;  she  noticed  every  person  whom  he  ad- 
dressed, and  heard  his  hollow  laugh  through  the  din  of  light- 
hearted  merriment.  And  the  moments  fled  away,  and  the  coun- 
tenances around  her  grew  more  joyous,  and  the  music  more  ex- 
hilarating, and  the  brightness  of  the  scene  more  dazzling.  How 
was  it  that  in  Gertrude's  ear  a  solemn  undertone  blended  with 
every  note  ;  that  when  her  thoughts  wandered  for  an  instant  from 
the  one  engrossing  subject,  the  glittering  hall-room,  its  lights  and 
decorations,  passed  from  before  her,  and  in  their  stead  arose  the 
dim,  narrow  aisles,  and  arches,  and  windows  of  a  simple  vil- 
lage church]  Was  it  strange  that  when  she  looked  :it  Edward 
a  feeling  more  hitter  than  regret  crossed  her  mind  !  There 
was  indeed  much  to  struggle  against.  The  vision  she  had  30 
long  dwelt  upon  with  delight,  and  which  for  the  lasl  two  days 
ahe  had  bo  earnestly  striven  to  forget,  was  recurring  with  pain- 
ful distinctness.     The  remembrance  ofwhatmighl  have  been  her 

duty,  and  of  Edward's  folly, — worse  than  folly,  hia  Belli  

pressed  upon  her  mind.     The  sacrifice  seemed  bo  great  ;  would 
it  indeed  be  necessary?     As  she  asked   herself  the  question,  a 
well-known  voice  whispered  in  her  ear — 
'•  Will  you  allow  me  a  few  minutes'  conversation  !' 
Mr.   Dacre    was    Btanding   beside    her.      Gertrude    col< 
with  surprise,  and  perhaps  with  the  con  ciou  nesi  of  her  owe 


268  GERTRUDE. 


thoughts.  She  felt  that  they  were  wrong,  for  she  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  confess  them. 

"Did  you  speak  to  me  V  she  exclaimed.  "I  did  not  know 
you  were  here." 

"  I  am  but  just  come,"  he  replied. 

"  So  late!"  and  Gertrude  looked  and  fe„t  alarmed.  "There 
must  be  a  cause." 

"  Yes  ;  can  you  grant  my  request  V 

"  A  crowd  is  the  best  solitude,"  said  Gertrude. 

"But  can  you  trust  yourself!" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  can  bear  any  thing  but  suspense." 

"  Only  for  a  few  minutes.  I  am  come  because  there  is  no 
one  but  yourself  who  can  act  in  this  case,  and  no  one  who  will 
understand  that  it  is  necessary.  Have  you  spoken  to  your 
brother  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  not  alone.     There  has  been  no  opportunity." 

They  were  standing  at  the  lower  end  of  the  dancing-room,  and 
a  quadrille  having  just  finished,  several  parties  came  up  to  them. 
Mr.  Dacre  seemed  hurried  and  uncomfortable. 

"  It  will  not  do  here,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  be  interrupted.  Is 
there  no  other  place  1" 

Gertrude  led  the  way  into  the  conservatory,  and  seating  her- 
self on  a  bench  by  the  door  which  led  into  the  garden,  said — 

"  We  shall  be  private  here  for  a  few  minutes  at  least ;  and  now 
tell  me — I  am  prepared  for  every  thing." 

"  Even  for  the  fulfilment  of  your  worst  fears  ?" 

Gertrude  grasped  Mr.  Dacre's  arm,  and  looked  wildly  in  his 
face. 

"  I  am  torturing  you,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  know 
nothing  for  certain,  but  to-morrow  (I  heard  it  about  half  an  hour 
ago  from  Mr.  Rivers)  there  is  to  be  a  meeting  held,  previous  to 
the  announcement  of  the  candidates  for  the  next  election.  If 
your  brother  intends  coming  forward,  he  must  declare  himself 
immediately." 

"  Intends  !"  said  Gertrude,  faintly.  "  I  have  tried  to  think 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  his  refusal." 

Mr.  Dacre  gazed  upon  her  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest 
commiseration. 

"  You  are  pitying  me,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Why  1  What  have 
you  kept  back  ?" 

"  Nothing  but " 

"  But  what  ?  If  you  can  feel  for  me  you  will  hide  nothing. 
It  is  misery." 

Mr.  Dacre  took  her  cold  hand  in  his,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
affection — 

"  I  have  not  concealed  any  thing,  but  I  have  a  dread,  it  may 
be  a  fancy,  that  all  is  not  right — that  Mr.  Courtenay's  journej 


GERTRUDE.  i2i>9 


to  London  may  have  determined  him.  He  may  be  already 
pledged." 

Gertrude  clasped  her  hands  despairingly. 

"  To-night  there  is  hope,"  he  continued.  "  General  Forester 
is  here  ;  with  what  intention  we  can  both  guess.  Before  he  is 
gone  your  brother's  resolution  must  be  taken  ;  and  before  this 
time  to-morrow  it  must  be  known  by  many,  and  with  it  his  change 
of  principles  ;  for  he  will  be  forced  openly  to  declare  which  side 
he  will  support  in  every  question  of  importance.  If  he  does  not, 
he  will  be  forsaken  by  moie  than  half  his  party.  Will  you  save 
him  ?     Will  you  go  to  him,  and  urge  him  to  pause  ?" 

Gertrude  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  breathing  was  quick  and 
irregular,  but  she  made  an  effort  to  reply  ; — "  .Now  he  will  not 
listen.     He  will  feel  that  it  is  not  for  me  to  interfere." 

"  Now  or  never.     Who  can  say  any  thing  if  you  do  not "!" 

"  Xo  one.  I  see  it  must  be  so  ;  but  I  am  ignorant.  I  have  no 
arguments  to  use." 

"  It  is  not  a  case  for  arguments.  It  is  the  heart,  not  the  rea- 
son, which  requires  to  be  convinced  ;  and  I  need  not  remind  you, 
that  if  words  are  powerless,  prayer  is  not." 

Gertrude  sighed  deeply. 

"  This  is  not  the  scene  for  such  an  undertaking,"  she  said  ; 
•'  but  if  it  is  right " 

"  Your  brother  is  not  here,"  interrupted  Mr.  Dacrc  ;  "  he  left 
tli<'  dancing-room  with  General  Forester  at  the  momenl  we  did." 

Gertrude  started  from  her  seat.  "  If  he  is  pledged  !"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Still  go  to  him, — pray  him, — force  him  to  retract.  Tell  him 
he  cannot  save  himself.  If  you  have  ever  loved  him,  do  not  let 
him  -sell  his  honor  for  a  hope  that  must  be  vain." 

"  Found  at  last,"  exclaimed  a  bland  voice. 

Mr.  Dacre  withdrew  himself  from  the  touch  of  Miss  Fores- 
ter's hand. 

"  J  heard  you  were  here,  and  I  have  been  looking  for  you  so 
long.  ' 

"  1  thank  you.     You  have  given  yourself  too  much  trouble." 

'■  Oh  no,  none  at  all  ;  but  1  was  so  anxious.  Some  mi''  told 
me  you  had  passed  down  this  way,  and  1  was  Bure  you  would 
take  cold." 

Mr.  Dacre  looked  at  Gertrude  entreatingly. 

"  You  have  nothing  more  to  say  1"  she  inquired  in  a  low  voice  ; 
"  no  arguments  !" 

"  Nothing.     Only  go  to  him  immediati  I 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  my  father  where  I  am  to  he  found,  if 
you  see  him,"  said  Mirs  Forester,  as  Gertrude  turned  aw  "  I 
inspect  he  is  closeted  with  Mr.  Courtenay.  They  have  beet 
looking  very  bnsine  s-like  the  whole  i 


270  GERTRUDE. 

Gertrude  did  not  see  the  'look  which  accompanied  the  words  • 
she  was  gone  hefore  the  seitence  was  concluded. 

'•  Where  did  you  say  your  father  was  V  inquired  Mr.  Dacre 
coldly. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  but  he  told  me  he  had  a  good  deal  to 
say  to  Mr.  Courtenay.  In  fact,  I  suspect  they  are  just  determin- 
ing what  the  address  is  to  be.  My  father  wishes  to  carry  it  away 
with  him.  But,  my  dear  sir,  you  do  distress  me  so  by  staying 
here.     Fancy  what  it  would  be  if  you  were  to  be  taken  ill." 

"  Very  unpleasant,"  said  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Now  you  will  go  back  with  me  ;  I  am  really  frightened  about 
you.     Remember,  I  shall  have  to  nurse  you." 

"  Thank  you,  but  my  housekeeper  generally  takes  that  trou- 
ble." 

"  So  obstinate,  so  very  obstinate,"  said  Miss  Forester,  sweetly. 
"You  will  at  least  let  us  take  you  home  in  the  carriage.  It  is 
very  late." 

"  I  am  obliged,  but  I  have  no  intention  of  going  yet.  Do  you 
know  where  I  shall  find  Mrs.  Courtenay  ?"  And  Mr.  Dacre 
walked  hastily  away. 

Miss  Forester's  face  was  any  thing  but  amiable  as  she  followed. 
The  Courtenays  in  some  shape  or  other  seemed  destined  to  come 
between  her  and  every  endeavor  she  could  make  to  win  Mr. 
Dacre's  favor.  The  room  was  (gradually  thinning,  and  the  spirit 
of  the  evening  seemed  evaporating. 

The  dancing  still  continued,  but  many  of  the  party  were  ga- 
thered together  in  little  knots,  talking  with  more  than  usual  ear- 
nestness,  and  glancing  occasionally  at  a  group  formed  at  the 
upper  part  of  the  room,  of  which  Mr.  Dacre  saw  with  uneas'ness 
that  Gertrude  was  one.  She  was  bending-  over  Laura,  who  was 
seated  upon  a  sofa,  talking  quickly.  The  burning  crimson  of 
fever  was  on  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  rolled  vacantly  but  inces- 
santly around  the  room.  Edith  and  Charlotte  were  with  her, 
and  there  was  an  evident  desire  to  conceal  what  was  pass- 
ing. Gertrude  looked  at  Mr.  Dacre,  as  if  to  ask  his  forgive- 
ness xbr  delay  ;  but  as  he  approached,  Miss  Forester  came  up 
also. 

"  Stand  near,"  whispered  Gertrude  to  Edith  ;  "she  must  not 
see  her." 

Laura  turned  hastily. 

"  Go,"  she  said  wildly.  "  You  crowd  me.  Give  me  air.  Ger- 
trude— where  is  Gertrude  ?'-' 

"  Close  to  you,  dearest,"  said  Gertrude,  gently ;  and  she  placed 
herself  directly  in  front. 

Mr.  Dacre  held  back,  but  Miss  Forester  pressed  on.  Several 
other  persons  came  up  at  the  same  time,  and  Laura's  voice  was 
again  raised,  begging  that  they  would  leave  her. 


GERTRUDE.  271 


"  She  is  not  well ;  there  are  too  many  about  her,"  said  Ger- 
trude ;  "  I  must  beg  you  not  to  come  so  near." 

The  words  were  addressed  to  Miss  Forester,  but  she  did  not 
or  would  not  hear. 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  excitement !  I  knew  she  would  do  too  much. 
I  must  offer  her  these  salts." 

Her  hand  was  stretched  out,  but  Gertrude  thrust  it  aside  with 
i  civil  apology — 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  must  insist." 

She  looked  around  for  Mr.  Dacre. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  every  thing  !"  he  said,  as  he  came  close 
to  her. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  go,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  Laura  is  ill." 

"  It  must  be  possible.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour  may  be  too 
late." 

"  But  Laura ." 

"  Leave  her,  leave  her.     There  are  others  to  care  for  her." 

"  Let  me  come  for  one  minute,"  said  Miss  Forester,  pushing 
herself  before  Charlotte.  "  Dearest  Mrs.  Courtenay,  only  try 
this.     You  used  to  be  very  fond  of  it." 

Laura  had  sunk  back  upon  the  sofa,  and  her  head  was  averted  ; 
but  the  smooth  accents  fell  upon  her  ear,  with  all  their  miserable 
associations,  and  with  a  scream  of  anguish  she  started  up. 
The  music  suddenly  ceased,  and  there  was  a  general  rush  of 
inquiry. 

"  Go,"  said  Mr.  Dacre  to  Gertrude,  almost  sternly. 

Gertrude  cast  one  lingering  look  upon  Laura. 

"  Remember,  you  are  to  see  him,  whoever  may  be  with  him." 

Gertrude  turned  away  as  Laura  uttered  her  name,  and  without 
being  noticed  by  any  one  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

In  the  small  luxurious  apartment,  bung  with  prints  and 
crowded  with  books,  which  was  appropriated  as  ;t  study.  Mr. 
Courtenay  was  seated  in  company  with  General  Forester.  Both 
were  engaged  in  writing;  the  one  deeply,  with  his  brows  knit, 
and  his  head  leaning  upon  his  band  ;  the  other  carelessly,  as  if 
merely  for  the  passing  away  of  a  few  spare  minutes, — or  more 
probably,  as  a  screen  to  conceal  the  attention  with  which  !■<• 
marked  the  progress  of  his  companion.  The  door  was  closed 
and  lucked,  the  curtains  were  drawn,  and  the  lamp  burnt  brightly 
on  the  table.  It  seemed  an  hour  devoted  to  harness,  |„n  bursts 
»f  music  and  tones  of  gayety  were  hounding  faintly  from  the  far- 


272  GERTkUDE 


ther  extremity  of  the  corridor  ;  and  the  roll  of  carriages  and  tha 
hustle  of  departing  guests  told  that  a  different  scene  was  passing 
in  the  other  part  of  the  house. 

"  It  is  late,"  said  Edward,  laying  down  his  pen  with  a  weary 
sigh,  and  looking  at  his  watch;  "will  not  to-morrow  do  as  well]" 

"  No  time  like  the  present,"  was  the  answer ;  "  besides,  we 
have  a  meeting  at  ten  in  the  morning." 

"  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  done  in  a  hurry,"  exclaimed  Edward  ; 
"  if  it  were  only  to  judge  how  the  sentences  should  be  worded." 

"  Oh  that— there  is  no  difficulty  in  managing  the  words  ;  let  us 
only  have  the  sense.  May  I  be  "allowed  to  look  1"  and  he  took 
up  the  paper,  which  lay  on  Mr.  Courtenay's  desk. 

"  What  do  you  say  V  inquired  Edward,  rather  anxiously  ; 
"  will  it  do  V 

"  Ah,  hem  !  we  will  see  ;  it  is  a  good  commencement."  Ed- 
ward beat  his  foot  in  irritation.  To  be  patronized,  was  more 
than  any  ordinary  temper  could  endure.  General  Forester  went 
on  reading,  but  the  writing  was  bad — the  sentences  were  inter- 
lined— many  required  consideration.  Edward's  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him  ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  end. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  have  it,"  and  he  took  the  paper  from 
his  hand. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  understand  it  perfectly.  It  is  very  well — very 
right,  as  far  as  it  goes,  but ." 

»  Well!   what?" 

"  It  won't  suit.     It  is  not  explicit." 

"  Every  subject  is  mentioned  which  we  have  ever  discussed." 

"Yes,  but  not  your  definite  opinion." 

Edward  pushed  aside  the  table,  and  rose  angrily  from  his 
seat.  "  I  can  bear  a  great  deal,'*  he  said  ;  "  but  not  to  be  dic- 
tated to.  1  will  give  my  promise  upon  every  point  ;  Church 
question — manufactures — poor  laws — my  honor  will  be  pledged 
upon  all  ;  but  the  manner  in  which  I  am  to  express  myself  to  my 
constituents  is  my  own  affair  ;  and  I  am,  and  must  be,  the  best 
judge  of  what  is  right."  The  word  "right''  was  pronounced 
with  hesitation. 

"Then  we  part,"  said  General  Forester,  coolly.  "Put  forth 
such  a  declaration  as  this,  and  two-thirds  of  your  supporters 
will  leave  you.  They  require,  and  will  have  a  positive,  open 
a\  owal." 

'•  Require!  will  have!"  repeated  Edward. 

"  Yes  ;  they  are  strong  words,  but  true  ones.  Who  will  be- 
lieve that  you  are  intending  to  vote  against  all  you  have  hitherto 
upheld,  unless  you  profess  it  plainly  ?" 

"  Who  !   who  indeed  !"  were  the  words  which  rose  to  Edward's 
lips.     He  walked  to  the  window,  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain 
ooked  out  upon  the  bright  summer  night. 


GERTRUDE.  21? 


"  Time  is  passing,"  said  General  Forester  ;  "  do  you  repent  1 
Edward's  gaze  was  upon  the  deep  blue  sky,  and  lie  did  not  an- 
swer.    "  Mr.   Oourtenay,  this  is  trifling  ;  I  am  not  here  to  wait 
your  leisure.     Am  I  to  consider  this  paper  as  the  only  declara- 
tion you  intend  to  give  1" 

Still  Edward  paused.  From  the  purity  of  the  heavens,  he 
had  turned  to  the  beauty  of  the  earth — to  the  fair  domain,  the 
outline  of  which  was  dimly  shadowed  forth  by  the  pale  moon- 
light. Let  him  offend  General  Forester  and  his  party,  and  his 
election  was  lost.  Let  his  election  be  lost,  and  the  hope  for 
which  he  ha*d  been  willing  to  sacrifice  his  honor,  the  prospect  of 
retaining  his  property  and  saving  himself  from  ruin,  was  lost 
likewise.  General  Forester  waited  in  angry  surprise,  and  was 
about  to  make  another  and  a  last  effort,  when  Edward  placed 
himself  again  at  the  table.  "  It  must  be,"  he  said  ;  "  yes,  yoi 
are  right.  It  must  be  ;  but  the  recompense  will  be  ample."  Th« 
pen  fell  from  Edward's  hand.  Why  did  the  thought  of  recom- 
pense make  him  start  with  the  fear  of  a  coward  ? 

"Half-past  eleven,"  said  General  Forester:  "my  watch  is 
very  correct.     I  am  sorry  to  hurry  you." 

"  Some  one  knocked,"  exclaimed  Edward,  and  he  turned  pale. 

"Oh!  no;  never  mind.  The  door  is  fastened,  we  can't  be 
interrupted."  Edward  took  up  his  pen  again.  Another  knock, 
and  a  louder  one.  "No  admittance!"  exclaimed  General  For- 
ester. But  he  had  gone  a  step  too  far ;  Edward  allowed  no  one 
but  himself  to  be  master  in  his  own  house.  His  pen  was  once 
more  cast  aside — his  paper  carefully  covered — and  the  door  was 
opened.  It  was  Gertrude,  trembling  and  agitated;  her  face  of 
care  sadly  contrasting  with  the  light  elegance  of  her  dress,  and 
shrinking  with  a  natural  timidity  from  a  task  for  which  her  youth 
and  sex  rendered  her  in  her  own  opinion  unfitted. 

"  Edward,  1  am  come — may  1  see  you  1  Could  I  speak  a  few 
words  !"  she  began. 

"Not  now — by  and  by.  I  am  engaged  particularly."  He 
was  about  to  close  the  door,  but  she  prei  i  nted  him. 

"his  necessary— indeed  1  must:  it  is  something  which  must 

not  he  delayed." 

"  Laura  '"'  exclaimed  Edward,  in  a  tone  of  uneasiness. 

••  No,"  replied  Gertrude,  though  her  con  smote  her  as 

she  remembered  the  state  in  winch  she  had  just  left  In  r. 

"Then  go,  go.     I  cannol  listen  to  you  now." 

"  Edward,  dear  Edward  ;  let   me  come  but  for  five  minutes 
It  will  make  me  wretched  if  you  refuse." 

-Are  von  foolish,  Gertrude  !     Don't  yon  Bee  I  am  i  n 
General  Forester  is  hei  e." 

'■  General    Forester  '    that  i  mother    reason       I    mui 

»pe  ik  to  you  at  once." 


274  GERTRUDE. 


"  Ridiculous  !  absurd  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  allowing  her  .0 
enter.     "  If  you  insist,  you  shall  make  your  own  apology." 

"  General  Forester  will  excuse  it,  I  am  sure,"  said  Gertrude, 
recovering  her  usual  quiet  dignity  of  manner.  "  My  business  is 
of  consequence,  or  I  would  not  dream  of  intruding." 

"  It  will  be  attended  to,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  General  For- 
ester, with  a  formal  bow  ;  "  but  perhaps  you  will  not  object  that 
mine  should  be  ended  first." 

Poor  Gertrude  felt  abashed  and  confused,  but  did  not  offer  to 
retire,  and  Edward  looked  at  her  impatiently.  "  You  forget," 
he  said  ;  "  a  lady,  and  a  young  lady,  may  surely  give  way." 

"  I  would  indeed,  Edward,  if  I  dared.  If  General  Forester 
will  allow  me  but  a  few  minutes." 

The  General's  countenance  expressed  irritation  and  con- 
tempt. 

"  I  can  scarcely  ask  you  to  wait,"  said  Edward  ;  "  this  impor- 
tant matter  can  be  nothing  but  a  trifle." 

"  My  time  is  not  generally  at  the  disposal  of  every  young 
lady  who  may  require  it,"  said    General  Forester ;  "  however, 

since  you  wish  it .     You  will  send,  I  suppose,  when  I  may 

be  allowed  to  return." 

He  left  the  room.  Gertrude's  heart  failed  her  ;  she  stood  be- 
fore her  brother  mute  and  trembling.  Edward  seated  himself  in 
pettish  silence.  "I  am  ready,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause. 
Gertrude's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  escaped  them.  She  drew 
near  to  the  table,  and  took  up  the  papers,  and  touched  the  pens, 
but  no  words  came  to  her  assistance.  "  Gertrude,"  exclaimed 
Edward,  "  I  am  in  no  mood  to  bear  this  trifling."  The  allusion 
dispelled  the  charm  by  which  Gertrude  was  bound. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said  :  "it  was  for  that  reason  I  came  ;  only 
bear  with  me  patiently." 

"  Speak  !"  he  replied  hastily  ;  "  I  wish  for  no  mysteries." 

"  It  is  not  my  place,"  continued  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  am  forced 
into  it.  General  Forester  is  urging  you  to  stand  for  another 
election." 

"  Well  !  yes.  Why  should  it  distress  you  1  Do  you  think  I 
shall  lose  it!"     And  he  tried  to  laugh. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  is  not  the  election  :  it  is  not  your  success 
which  I  care  for." 

"  Go,  Gertrude,"  exclaimed  Edward  ;  "  this  is  unworthy  of 
your  sense.  What  folly  has  possessed  you  ]  If  this  is  all,  Gen- 
eral Forester  had  better  return  immediately." 

"  Stay,  stay,"  exclaimed  Gertrude  :  "  it  is  not  all.  Blame 
me,  laugh  at  me,  if  you  will ;  yet  I  must  speak.  Edward,  is  it 
true  that  you  are  going  to  sacrifice  your  principles]" 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying  V  interrupted  Edward  ■ 
and  he  held  her  firmly  by  the    arm,  and  fixed  on  her  a  gazt 


GERTRUDE.  275 


which   made   her  shudder.     "  Even  Laura  herself  should   not 
speak  to  me  in  such  terms." 

Gertrude's  heart  beat  violently, — she  was  almost  on  the 
point  of  leaving  him.  '  They  are"  hard  words,"  she  said,  "  but 
there  are  none  others  that  I  can  use.  I  am  fearfully  wretched 
since  I  heard  it." 

"  How  can  it  signify  to  you  ?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  softened 
voice.  "  It  is  a  woman's  weakness  which  makes  you  fear  ;  yuu 
do  not  understand  these  things." 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude,  mdeavoring  to  be  composed. 
"  There  are  many  things  which  I  do  not  understand,  but  this  is 
not  one.  You  are  not  fitted  for  dishonor,  Edward  ;  you  could 
not  bear  it.  It  would  crush  you  to  the  dust ;  you  would  be  mis- 
erable— miserable  for  life,  and  Laura  too." 

Edward  returned  to  his  seat,  and  again  began  writing. 
';  You  will  tell  General  Forester,"  he  said,  without  raising  his 
eyes,  "  I  am  ready  for  him." 

"  Edward,  I  cannot  go.  I  will  not,  till  you  have  granted  me 
one  favor.     Wait  only  till  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow!"  exclaimed  Edward,  throwing  himself  back 
in  the  chair.  "  Folly  !  impossibility  !  ignorance  !  Listen,  Ger- 
trude !"  He  held  her  hand,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  gluistly 
smile  of  despair.  "  I  am  pledged.  Now  go."  He  pushed  her 
from  him,  and  once  more  rose  from  his  seat. 

Gertrude  stood  thunderstruck.  A  mist  floated  before  her 
eyes,  and  her  thoughts  were  wandering  and  indistinct.  Hope- 
lessness was  in  her  heart,  but  she  forced  herself  to  speak.  "  I 
will  hide  nothing  from  you,  Edward,"  she  said;  "I  know  all. 
You  are  driven  to  this  because  you  have  no  other  resource.  You 
cannot  bring  yourself  to  declare  that  you  are  ruined." 

Edward  recoiled  from  the  word.  He  clenched  his  hand  firm- 
ly ;  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  swelled  with  indignation,  as  he 
moved  towards  the  door. 

"  I    am    going,"   said  Gertrude,    in  a  quiet  tone   of  mi 
which  cannot  be  expressed.     "  I  would  save  you — God  knows 
how  willingly  !  and  not  with  words  only." 

Edward  heard,  but  did  not  comprehend.  He  stood  with  Ins 
arms  folded,  his  eyes  fixed.  At  that  moment  a  bustle  was  heard 
in  the  passage,  and  immediately  afterwards  a  quick  knock  at  the 
door.  Gertrude  thought  of  Laura,  and  hastened  to  open  it.  "  I 
gave  orders  not  to  be  interrupted,"  exclaimed  Edward. 

"  My  mistress,  sir,"  replied  the  Bervant. 

'•  What  of  your  mistress  1     Speak,  instantly.' 

Tin- maid  looked  at  Gertrude.  "la  b.<  wo  ■  '  What  has 
been  dune  V  asked  Gertrude,  eagerly. 

"Miss  Edith  thinks,  ma'am,  thai  Bome  one  should  bo  se;  t  for 
)-ut  uhc  wishes  my  master  to  say." 


276  GERTRUDE. 


"  What  does  it  mean  V  exclaimed  Edward.  "  Gertrude,  yoi 
have  kept  it  from  me.     I  saw  she  was  unlike  herself." 

"  You  would  pardon  me  if  you  knew,"  began  Gertrude,  but 
Edward  would  not  listen.  He  thrust  aside  the  hand  which  she 
had  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  rushed  to  Laura's  apartment. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

The  excitement  of  Laura's  mind  during  the  whole  of  that 
eventful  day  might  have  affected  even  a  much  stronger  consti- 
tution than  hers,  and  when  added  to  the  anxiety,  not  of  days 
but  of  weeks  and  months  previous,  its  effects  were  very  alarm- 
ing. When  Gertrude  left  the  dancing  room  it  could  no  longer 
be  concealed  that  Laura  was  seriously  ill.  Her  voice  and  man- 
ner, so  strange  and  wandering,  roused  general  attention ;  and 
inquiries  and  surmises  circulated  quickly  through  the  room,  but 
it  was  a  considerable  time  before  she  could  be  prevailed  on  to 
move.  Ediih  entreated,  Charlotte  insisted,  Mrs.  Courtenay,  in 
great  alarm,  threatened  an  immediate  visit  from  the  physician, 
but  Laura  was  inflexible.  Mr.  Dacre  stood  by,  at  first  afraid  of 
interfering.  He  could  not  go  away,  for  he  felt  as  if  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  all  that  might  happen  in  Gertrude's  absence  ;  but 
seeing  that  Miss  Forester's  presence  was  painful,  at  last  he  ven- 
tured to  exert  that  power  which  he  knew  he  possessed,  and  in  a 
tone  that  sounded  like  command,  suggested,  that  in  cases  like 
the  present,  relations  were  the  only  proper  persons  to  take  any 
active  part.  Miss  Forester  frowned  her  annoyance,  but  obeyed  ; 
and  withdrew  to  a  distant  corner,  to  express  her  fears  that  "  dear 
Mrs.  Courtenay  was  worried.  Her  sisters  were  very  kind,  but 
it  was  clear  they  did  not  understand  bow  to  treat  her."  There 
were  few,  however,  to  listen.  One  by  one  the  guests  had  dwin- 
dled away,  some  from  delicacy,  others  from  fatigue.  The  danc- 
ing  had  ceased,  the  lights  were  burning  low,  the  evergreen 
wreaths  were  drooping,  the  sounds  of  waltzes  and  quadrilles 
were  exchanged  for  the  tread  of  the  musicians  as  they  stepped 
over  the  empty  benches  with  their  instruments  clattering  against 
the  stands.  There  was  a  bustle  in  the  ante-room  :  a  search  for 
shawls  and  'nrs  ;  and  a  whispered  murmur  amongst  those  whose 
carriages  bad  not  been  announced  ;  but  by  decrees  these  also 
ceased.  The  guests  bad  departed,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Dacre,  Miss  Forester,  and  her  father,  who  was  waiting  in  gloomy 


GERTRUDE.  211 


silence  his  summons  to  the  study,  and  Laura  was  then  induced 
by  mingled  force  and  entreaty  to  retire.  Miss  Forester  would 
have  followed  her,  but  Mr.  Dacre  prevented  her,  and  in  a  fit  of 
irritation  which  could  not  be  concealed,  she  threw  herself  back 
upon  the  sofa.  Mr.  Dacre  seated  himself  opposite,  and  General 
Forester  paced  the  room.  No  one  was  inclined  for  conversation, 
and  few  words  were  spoken,  except  when  Miss  Forester  occa- 
sionally urged  upon  her  father  the  folly  of  remaining  lonsjer. 

Minutes  and  half-hours  passed  ;  the  lights  were  nearly  extin 
guished ;  and  the  General  grew  impatient.  Footsteps  and 
hushed  voices  were  heard  perpetually.  Mr.  Dacre  went  to  the 
door,  and  meeting  a  servant,  made  inquiries  for  Laura.  "  It  is 
a  brain  fever,  sir,"  said  the  man,  in  a  low  voice.  "  My  master 
has  sent  off  for  advice."  Miss  Forester  heard  the  announce- 
ment, and  the  color  forsook  her  cheek.  She  said  no  more  about 
going,  but  sat  still  and  silent ; — perhaps  she  was  meditating  upon 
her  own  share  in  Laura's  illness. 

They  are  stern  but  most  salutary  truths  which  are  taught  by 
a  sick  bed  ;  and  taught,  not  always  by  degrees,  but  often  as 
suddenly  and  impressively  as  the  visitations  with  which  we  are 
afflicted.  Edward  had  passed  through  life  with  scarcely  any 
experience  of  illness  :  he  had  known  but  one  great  shock — his 
father's  death,  and  this  had  taken  place  when  he  was  absent 
from  home  ;  and  since  that  time  disease  and  death  had  u 
been  brought  closely  to  him.  And  now,  with  his  conscii  nee 
burdened,  his  heart  distracted  with  worldly  care,  he  was  in  a 
moment,  as  it  were,  confronted  with  them.  He  placed  himself 
by  Laura's  bed,  but  she  did  not  see  him;  and  when  he  spoke. 
she  seemed  not  to  hear.  Pier  beautiful  eyes  were  glaring  and 
vacant,  her  mouth  was  half  open,  her  lips  were  dark  with  leer. 
A  gulf  seemed  suddenly  to  have  opened  before  him;  ami  in  it, 
in  a  few  short  hours,  might  be  entombed  all  that  had  made  his 
life  desirable.  Without  his  wife,  what  would  wealth  or  honor 
profit  him  ?      During  the  first  stupifying  horror,  no  one   dared  to 

address  him;  but  when  his  face   relaxed  from  its  expressi I 

my,  and  he  began  to  inquire  whal  had  been  done,  Charl 
in  ignorance  id'  his  tone  of  mind,  spoke   to  him  oi  hope.     He 
took  no  notice  of  her,  hut.  immediately  left  the  room.     To  tell 
him  there  was  hope,  was  to  tell  him  also  tint  the  e  was  fearful 
danger.     After  a  Bhorl  interval  he  returned;  and  Gertri 
gested  to   Edith  thai  she  should  give  up  her  place  bj   I. 
pillow,  and  leave  him  to  do  anv  thing  thai   mi 
He  seated  himself,  but  it  was  only  to  gaze  for  a  minute,andt    »n 
turn  away,  as  if  unable  to  endure  the  sight.     Gertrude  thrughl 
uf  General  Forester;  but  the   past   and   the  future  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  vanished  from  Edward's  mind.      His  only  tin hi 

Aras  for  the  arrival  nf  the  pll  .  "ho  e   del  I  •      e     loi     .  I 


278  GERTRUDE. 


than  was  necessary.  He  came,  however,  at  last ;  and  all  fel 
thankful  and  relieved,  if  it  were  only  to  be  saved  from  the  misery 
of  doubt  as  to  what  should  be  done.  The  first  order  given  was 
to  send  from  the  room  all  except  those  who  could  really  be  use- 
ful. Jane  went  willingly;  but  Mrs.  Courtenay  insisted  upon 
remaining  in  the  dressing-room;  and  Edith  still  lingered,  though 
conscious  she  could  dc  little  to  assist.  Gertrude  was  uneasy  ; 
she  would  willingly  have  gone  herself,  but  her  long  expe- 
rience of  illness  made  her  presence  necessary.  Edward  was 
becoming  impatient ;  he  seemed  distressed  at  the  least  noise, — 
and  to  see  any  persons  about  him  beckoning  and  whispering, 
was  more  than  his  irritability  could  bear ;  for,  besides  his  anx- 
iety about  Laura,  he  had  still  on  his  mind  the  weight  of  his  other 
cares.  He  had  not  forgotten  General  Forester,  though  Gertrude 
thought  he  had  ;  but,  in  that  chamber,  he  could  not  resolve  to 
follow  his  guidance.  Whilst  others  were  attending  upon  Laura 
he  had  leisure  for  meditation.  Stationed  behind  her,  he  watched 
all  that  was  passing,  and  listened  to  her  wandering  words  ;  and 
the  sudden  change — the  possibility  of  what  the  end  might  be — 
awoke  feelings  which  had  long  slumbered  in  his  breast.  Suffer- 
ing  and  sorrow  bring  us  near  to  the  invisible  world  ;  and  in  the 
presence  of  saints  and  angels,  and  before  Him  who  is  the  Lord 
of  all,  how  shall  we  resolve  to  sin  against  our  own  convictions? 
Edward  thought,  and  hesitated.  He  looked  at  Gertrude,  and 
the  word  "dishonor"  rang  in  his  ears.  He  gazed  upon  the 
features  of  her  whom  he  most  loved,  and  the  still  image  of  death 
rose  up  before  him,  to  warn  him  of  the  vanity  of  earthly  hopes. 
He  knew  that  if  the  world  thought  lightly  of  what  he  was  about 
to  do,  yet  his  own  conscience  would  continually  accuse  him ;  and 
even  then,  pledged  as  he  was,  he  asked  himself  if  it  would  not 
be  possible  to  give  up  the  election,  to  forget  the  offer  that  had 
been  made  him,  and  again  retire  into  privacy ;  and  if  Laura 
were  restored  to  him,  should  he  not  appreciate  as  he  had  never 
done  before  the  happiness  of  domestic  life.  But  the  scene  chang- 
ed. His  happiness  was  to  be  centred  in  his  home.  And  his 
home,  where  would  it  be  1  He  was  a  beggar.  He  clasped  his 
hands,  and  bent  his  head  upon  Laura's  pillow.  With  a  wild 
unconscious  movement  she  pushed  him  from  her ;  and  then,  in  a 
tone  which  thrilled  to  his  very  soul,  called  upon  him  to  come  to 
her;  accused  him  of  unkindness,  and  prayed  him  to  forgive  her. 

"  Take  me,  take  me,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  Gertrude,  I  deceived 
him.     He  is  gone.     Who  says  he  did  not  love  me  ?" 

Edward  leant  over  her  in  agony.  "  Go,"  he  said,  aloud,  as 
;he  physician  would  have  beckoned  him  away.  "  Leave  me,  all ; 
you  can  do  nothing." 

"He  is  right,  Edith,"  whispered^ Gertrude  ;  "some  one  must 
gp,  fur  all  our  sakes." 


GERTRIJDE.  27S 


"Jane  and  my  mother,"  began  Edith.  She  was  interrupted 
by  Edward,  who  came  up  to  her  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
struck  him,  and  said,  in  a  hurried  undertone,  "  Why  do  you 
stay  ?     You  did  not  care  for  her." 

"  Oh,  Edward,  forgive  me  ;  I  have  done  wrong  :  but  do  not 
punish  me  so  cruelly." 

"  This  is  not  the  place,  Edith,"  said  Gertrude.  "  lie  will  not 
listen  to  you." 

"  He  must :  I  cannot  go.     It  is  in  vain  to  insist " 

"  Edward,  Edward,"  again  repeated  Laura.  And  Edward 
groaned  in  misery. 

"  You  can  do  nothing  now,"  said  Gertrude,  drawing  Edith 
aside;  "if  you  will  take  my  mother  home,  and  leave  Charlotte 
with  me,  you  shall  hear  the  very  first  thing.  It  is  madness  for 
us  all  to  waste  our  strength,  when  we  cannot  tell  how  it  may  be 
required." 

"  But  you,  Gertrude,  who  have  had  so  much  to  bear." 

"  I  must  not  leave  Edward.  Every  thing  depends  on  the  next 
few  hours.  Things  are  worse  than  we  imagined.  1  have  spoken 
to  him,  but  as  yet  to  no  purpose  ;  and  I  must  try  again.  What- 
ever happens  he  must  be  kept  from  sacrificing  himself." 

"  But  there  can  be  no  such  great  reason  for  being  uneasy  at 
this  instant." 

"  Yes,  indeed  there  is.  I  cannot  explain,  but  you  must  not 
urge  my  leaving  him." 

Edith  still  seemed  unwilling  to  consent  to  the  arrangement ; 
she  returned  to  the  bed,  and  Gertrude  stole  noiselessly  from  the 
chamber.  Two  servants  passed  her  in  the  gallery,  and  from 
them  she  learned  that  General  Forester  was  still  in  the  house. 
She  listened  at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  and  heard  his  step  as  he 
walked  the  room  below,  and  directly  afterwards  the  drawing- 
room  bell  rang.  Gertrude  waited  till  a  second  peal,  and  then 
hurried  back  to  the  sick  room.  Edith  was  waiting  with  her 
mother  in  the  dressing-room,  and  Edward  had  given  up  his  place 
to  Laura's  maid,  and  was  seated  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed.  Ger- 
trude dreaded  to  make  him  angry  by  speaking,  when  he  longed 
for  silence.  She  placed  herself  by  him,  doubting  what  to  do,  but 
he  soon  observed  her,  and  inquired  eagerly  if  she  wanted  anj 
thing. 

'    Let  me  speak  but  two  words  with  you." 

"Not  now,"  he  replied,  gloomily :  " spare  me;  I  have  had 
enough." 

'•  But  it  must  be  now, — General  Forester  is  waiting." 

Edward  rose  nastily,  and  signed  her  t<<  follow  him.      '  \  "ur 
incautiousness  is  maddening,    he  said,  as  they  stoppod  at  thr 
head  of  the   staircase.      "  \\  liy  arc  my  private  affairs   10  bfl   !»»■• 
rayed  to  every  one  ?" 


280  GERTRUDE. 


Gertrude  made  no  excuse.  She  stood  meekly  before  him, 
as  if  really  in  the  wrong,  and  then  said,  "  I  know  you  have  much 
to  excuse  ;  but  may  I  take  your  message  to  General  Forester  ? 
He  is  still  here,  and  of  course  expects  that  you  will  see  him 
again." 

"  Tell  him — but  no,  there  is  no  time.  Say  that  I  will  leave 
every  thing "     He  paused  again. 

"  Not  to  him !"  exclaimed  Gertrude.  "  Oh,  Edward,  have 
pity  !" 

•'  And  bring  Laura  to  misery,"  exclaimed  Edward.  "  Ger- 
trude, it  is  but  selfishness  in  you  to  ask  it." 

"Selfishness!"  began  Gertrude,  with  the  proud  consciousness 
of  innocence ;  but  the  sentence  went  no  farther,  and  leaning 
against  the  balustrade,  she  shed  tears  such  as  she  never  shed 
before.  For  the  third  time  the  drawing-room  bell  ran?,  loudly 
and  angrily.  A  servant  crossed  the  hall,  and  Edward  called  to 
him.     "Is  General  Forester  here  still]" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  he  has  just  rung." 

"  Stop  ;  take  him  this  message."     Edward  put  his  hand  be- 
fore his  eyes,  and  Gertrude,  with  her  hands  folded,  and  her  gaze 
riveted  upon  her  brother,  waited  for  the  next  word  with  an  in 
tensity  of  expectation  only  endurable   because  it  was  blende*' 
with  prayer.     The  dull  ticking  of  the  clock  told  the  rapid  mo 
ments.     To  Gertrude  they  were  as  the  slow  passing  of  an  hcur 
Edward  did  not  move,  and  the  servant  stood  patiently   below 
looking  tp  into  the    glimmering  darkness  of  the  gallery,  whei 
Laura's  unconscious  laugh  was  faintly  heard.     "  Tell  him  I  can- 
not see  him  ;  he  shall  hear  before  ten,"  exclaimed  Edward.    He 
was  gone  the  next  minute.     The  message  was  taken  to  General 
Forester,  and  Gertrude  was  left  alone. 

It  was  a  reprieve — only  a  reprieve ;  yet  Gertrude  was  inex- 
pressibly thankful.  She  felt  that  it  was  the  answer  to  her  prayer. 
She  remained  till  certain  that  General  Forester  was  gone,  and 
ihen  went  to  find  Jane,  and  prevail  on  her  to  return  to  the  Prio 
rv,  as  an  inducement  to  Mrs.  Courtenay  and  Edith  to  go  too. 
When  the  house  was  free,  she  hoped  that  Edward  might  be  leis 
harassed.  Jane  roused  herself  from  a  slumber  on  a  sofa,  in  a 
distant  chamber,  and  objected  to  being  sent  away  in  the  middle 
of  the  night ;  but  Gertrude's  influence  was  seldom  exerted  in 
vain,  and  with  some  demur  she  consented.  Mrs.  Courtenay  was 
obstinate,  and  Edith  very  miserable  ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  a 
conversation  of  nearly  half  an  hour,  that  all  parties  agreed  at 
last  to  order  the  carriage.  The  physician  was  upon  the  point  of" 
departure  also,  for  Laura  was  quieter,  and  all  had  been  d'"ne 
which  could  at  that  moment  be  required.  He  spoke  cheerfully, 
and  told  of  several  cases  in  which,  when  all  hope  was  relin- 
quished, recovery  had  been  granted  ;  but  Gertrude  read  in  hu 


GEItlxlUDE.  231 


countenance  a  fear  which  he  would  not  confess,  and  even  Edward 
seemed  scarcely  comforted  by  an  opinion  so  doubtful.  There 
was  now,  however,  a  stillness  in  the  house,  which  in  cases  of 
sickness  is  almost  as  necessary  to  the  watcher  as  to  the  sufferer. 
Laura  still  lay  with  a  vacant  distressed  gaze,  but  her  pulse  was 
less  violent,  and  her  manner  more  composed.  That  she  was  in 
danger  no  one  could  doubt ;  but  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  an 
hour,  Edward,  as  he  remarked  the  dangerous  symptoms  diminish- 
ing, although  almost  imperceptibly,  felt  that  he  need  not  despair. 
Under  other  circumstances  the  blessedness  of  hope  would  have 
Oeen  without  alloy — but  now  it  brought  only  a  change  of  care. 
While  Laura's  state  was  so  appalling,  he  forgot  in  a  measure  that 
any  other  trial  awaited  him  ;  but  when  that  ceased,  the  future  in 
store  for  them  both  came  distinctly  into  view.  Vacillation  would 
soon  be  no  longer  in  his  power.  He  had  left  Elsham  for  Lon- 
don, on  a  sudden  impulse,  because  ruin  stared  him  in  the  face. 
Without  allowing  himself  time  for  recollection,  he  had  seen  his 
friends,  and  pledged  himself  to  give  up  all  that  he  had  hitherto 
upheld  in  opposition  to  them,  if  only  he  could  be  assured  of  the 
promised  office, — and  in  a  few  hours'  time  he  was  to  profess  Ins 
weakness  publicly.  All  this  he  had  engaged  to  do.  And  when 
he  bad  done  it,  what  would  be  his  feelingsl  How  would  he 
enjoy  his  home,  and  the  society  of  his  family!  With  what 
pleasure  would  he  listen  to  the  praise  of  his  talents!  EIow 
would  he  endure  to  meet  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  hitherto 
respected  him?  Above  all,  how  would  he  dare  to  kneel  bi  fore 
God  and  ask  His  blessing,  when  bound  by  a  promise  to  his  fel- 
low-creatures to  support  the  very  measures  which  in  his  heart 
he  believed  to  be  evil. 

Gertrude  knew  her  brother  well,  when  she  said  that  dishonor 
would  crush  him  to  the  dust.  But  there  was  something  mor  I 
terrible  than  dishonor  which  at  that  moment  pressed  upon  Ed- 
ward's mind.  He  had  erred,  blindly  ami  foolishly,  lint  Ins  eon- 
science  was  not  yet  deadened.  Memories  of  the  past,  recollec- 
tions of  early  resolutions,  of  dreams  of  goodness,  and  lon<_rm:_r>  lo 
attain  even  upon  earth  the  holiness  of  heaven,  rose  before  him 
in  the  gloom  of  those  solemn  hours;   and  when  tin1  morning  liL'bt 

stole  through  the  crevices  of  the  window,  upon  Laura's  dark- 
ened chamber,  Edward  in  the  bitterness  of  his  anguish  could 
almost  have  been  satisfied  to  be  told,  thai  on  earth  Bhe  would 
never  wake  to  the  consciousness  that  he  was  a  guilty  or  a  ruined 
man. 


282  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

But  the  hour  of  final  decision  rapidly  approached.  The 
gray  twilight  faded  before  the  rising  sun,  and  the  distant  sounds 
of  busy  life  broke  upon  the  deep  stillness  of  the  dawn.  The 
servants  moved  with  silent  footsteps  about  the  house,  unlocking 
doors,  and  opening  shutters,  and  endeavoring,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, to  remove  the  vestiges  of  the  last  evening's  festivities. 
The  maid  left  Laura's  bedside,  and  crept  softly  about  the  room, 
putting  the  chairs  against  the  wall,  and  smoothing  the  carpets, 
and  arranging  the  glasses  and  bottles  on  the  stand.  Edward 
envied  her  her  occupations.  To  have  gone  forth  to  work  for  his 
daily  bread  would  have  been  delight  compared  with  the  mental 
suffering  he  was  enduring.  He  looked  round  for  Gertrude.  She 
had  been  resting  on  the  sofa  for  a  considerable  time,  and  he 
thought  she  was  asleep,  but  she  had  left  the  room  unperceived. 
He  waited  long,  expecting  her  return.  Though  he  could  not 
ask  her  to  forgive  him,  he  thought  he  should  like  to  show  by  his 
actions  that  he  was  no  longer  angry,  and  it  was  an  excuse  for 
delaying  the  task  of  reading  over  the  papers  which  had  been 
left  in  the  study,  so  as  to  re-write  them  to  suit  General  Fores- 
ter's views.  Still  Gertrude  did  not  come,  but  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  go,  for  Laura  was  becoming  more  restless.  He 
begged  Charlotte  to  relinquish  her  seat,  and  poured  out  some 
medicine  himself,  and  was  about  to  give  it ;  but  Laura  bent  her 
eyes  upon  him,  and  asked  him  who  he  was,  and  the  glass  dropped 
on  the  floor. 

"  Where  is  Gertrude  !"  he  inquired,  going  up  to  Charlotte 
again. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  she  is  gone  to  lie  down  somewhere 
else.     She  has  had  no  real  sleep." 

"Is  it  late'?"  said  Edward.  "Do  you  think  she  will  come 
back  !" 

"  Half-past  seven.  I  dare  say  she  will  stay  some  time  ;  she 
requires  rest  more  than  I  do." 

Two  hours  and  a  half  still.  But  Edward  was  becoming 
dreadfully  excited.  He  felt  that  he  must  determine  at  once. 
Another  hour  of  indecision  would  be  more  than  his  mind  could 
bear.     The  dressing-room   was    closed,   and    fancying   that   h6 


GERTRUDE.  283 


heard  some  one  move,  he  softly  opened  it.  Gertrude  was  there, 
but  Edward  dared  not  speak  to  her.  She  was  kneeling  before 
the  open  window,  her  hands  clasped  in  prayer.  He  gazed  upon 
her  for  a  few  moments,  while  many  thoughts  of  self-reproach 
filled  his  mind,  and  was  then  about  to  shut  the  door,  when  she 
suddenly  rose.  A  deep  blush  overspread  her  countenance,  as 
she  turned  and  saw  him. 

"  I  am  interrupting  you,"  he  said.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were 
here." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  be,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  could  not 
go  far  from-  Laura ;  and  when  we  are  unhappy,  what  can  we  do 
besides  ?" 

"  What  can  you  do  ]  you  mean,"  replied  Edward  ;  and  he  put 
his  arm  round  her,  and  kissed  her.  "  It  is  not  every  one  tbat 
can  pray." 

"  It  must  be  so  horrible  not  to  be  able  to  do  it,"  said  Gertrude, 
with  a  sigh.  "  Life  must  be  such  a  burden  without  it,  I  have 
wondered  sometimes  that  any  one  can  keep  his  senses  who  does 
not  do  it." 

"  But  there  is  hope  for  us  now,"  said  Edward.  "  Laura  is  not 
worse." 

"  No,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  and  she  has  a  strong  constitution, 
which  lias  never  been  much  tried.  There  are  many  things  in 
her  favor." 

Both  paused  ;  for  they  felt  that  Laura's  illness  was  not  then 
their  chief  anxiety. 

"  We  shall  be  happy,"  began  Edward  ;  but  the  word  grated 
upon  him. 

"  Happy  1     When  ?"  asked  Gertrude. 

"  I  don't  know.     Never  !" 

Gertrude  longed  to  speak  ;  but  she  had  done  her  utmost,  and 
now  she  was  resigned. 

"There  is  no  happiness  for  me,  Gertrude,"  he  continued. 
'  There  may  be  for  you." 

"  Not  for  me,  without  you.  I  may  submit  and  be  grateful,  but 
I  can  never  be  happy." 

"Then  there  is  a  long  life  of  misery  before  you,"  exclaimed 
Edward;  ••inevitable.  Whichever  way  I  act,  there  ie  no  es- 
cape." .,     . 

•■  You  arc  speaking  from  feeling  and  not  from   reason, 
Gertrude.     "  In  one  ease  1  know  you  must  !>••  mi  erable,  ami  mi 
we  all  must  ;   but  not  in  the  other." 

".Not  miserable!"  exclaimed  Edward.  "Then  jrou  do  no) 
{enow  one  half  of  u hat  is  m  Btore  Tor  me.  Look,"  and  ho  drew 
her  to  the  window,  and  pointed  to  the  park  and  gardens;  'you 

think  all  this  is  mine— but,  Gertrude "and  his  voice  sank 

with  agitation— "  1  tell  \ou,  not  our  tree,  not  one  flower,  not 


284  GERTRUDE. 


stone  upon  the  whole  of  the  estate  is  mine,  unless  I  consent  to 
keep  my  pledge.  And  when  all  is  gone,  what  am  I  to  do  1 
Where  am  I  to  wander  to  ?  Must  I  return  to  my  mother,  and 
beg  her  to  receive  me  as  a  dependent,  and  give  me  bread  to  eat, 
and  feed  my  wife  and  child  1     I  would  die  first." 

"  Is  there  no  alternative  ?"  said  Gertrude,  gently.    "  Your  pro 
fession  is  still  open  to  you." 

"  And  what  ?  Scorn  and  poverty.  How  am  I  to  enter  upon 
my  profession,  when  I  am  penniless?  And  if  I  were  to  do  it, 
how  could  I  bear  the  taunts  and  ridicule  I  should  be  exposed  to  1 
For  myself  I  could  brave  every  thing,  but  I  am  not  alone  :  I 
must  think  for  others." 

"  It  is  a  question  between  the  scorn  of  good  men  and  of  bad," 
said  Gertrude.  "  I  do  not  think  you  have  sufficient  confidence 
in  yourself,  Edward.  You  do  not  know  how  much  you  could 
bear,  if  you  felt  you  had  acted  uprightly." 

"  And  Laura  is  to  be  punished  for  my  folly  !  She  would  curse 
the  day  of  our  marriage." 

"  She  would  endure  all  things,  thankfully  and  cheerfully,"  said 
Gertrude.  "  If  ever  deep,  pure  love  was  felt  for  any  human  be- 
iiig  she  feels  it  for  you." 

Edward  struggled  against  betraying  his  emotions.  "  I  think 
she  loves  me,"  lie  said  ;  "  though  lately — but  I  cannot  talk  ot 
her  ;  she  was  too  good  to  be  thrown  away  upon  one  who  has  de- 
ceived her." 

"  Yet,"  said  Gertrude,  "  you  still  can  determine  to  deceive  hei 
more.  Edward,  if  you  care  nothing  for  your  own  happiness,  still 
remember  hers." 

There  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door.  Little  Charlie's  voice  was 
heard,  entreating  that  he  might  come  in.  Edward  rested  his 
head  against  the  window,  and  Gertrude  saw  that  he  could  not 
trust  himself  to  answer.  She  tried  to  send  the  child  away  with 
the  promise  that  he  should  return  soon,  but  he  still  lingered,  pe- 
titioning that  he  might  come,  only  just  for  one  minute.  Ger- 
trude doubted,  and  was  going  to  admit  him,  when  Edward  signed 
to  her  to  stop. 

"  I  have  ruined  him,"  was  all  he  said. 

His  countenance  told  the  hopeless  misery  of  his  mind.  Gei- 
trude's  heart  sank. 

"  General  Forester's  servant  is  coming  down  the  road,"  said 
Edward,  in  a  deep,  changed  tone. 

He  roused  himself,  as  if  to  go,  but  immediately  sank  back 
again  to  his  former  posture.  Gertrude  made  no  answer,  and  at 
that  instant  the  heavy  sound  of  the  old  church-bell  was  borne 
towards  them  on  the  morning  breeze.  It  was  tolling  for  an  early 
funeral.  Edward  heaved  a  teavy  sigh,  and  Charlie's  voice  was 
3gain  heard. 


GERTRUDE.  285 


"  Take  him — send  him  away  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  in  a  voice 
of  agony. 

Gertrude  opened  the  door,  and  the  child  in  a  moment  was  it 
the  room. 

"  Papa,  dear  papa  !"  and  lie  seized  his  father's  hand,  and  tried 
to  climb  up  to  his  neck. 

"  Papa  is  busy,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  we  must  not  disturb  him." 

"  Papa  will  go  to  church,"  persisted  Charlie,  trying  to  draw 
Edward  from  the  window. 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "another  day,  perhaps." 

"  Is  papa  naughty  ?"  said  the  child  ;  and  he  looked  wonder- 
ingly  in  Gertrude's  face. 

Edward  stooped  suddenly ;  lifted  him  in  his  arms,  and  covered 
him  with  kisses  ;  and  when  he  set  him  down,  Gertrude  saw  that 
his  little  cheek  was  wet  with  tears.  "  Charlie  must  not  stay 
here,"  she  said,  eoaxingly,  as  she  took  him  by  the  hand. 

The  little  fellow  rebelled  for  a  few  moments,  till  Gertrude 
gently  insisted,  and  the  door  was  acrain  closed.  But  Edward  did 
not  notice  what  was  passing.  He  was  listening  to  the  slow, 
regular  toll  of  the  funeral  bell,  and  wrapt  in  thought.  Gertrude 
listened  too,  and  an  overpowering  sensation  of  awe  mingled  with 
the  bitterness  of  her  feelings.  It  was  as  a  voice  sent  to  warn 
them  of  death,  and  the  judgment  that  shall  follow  it.  Many  min- 
utes elapsed,  and  neither  of  them  spoke.  Edward  was  the  first 
to  break  the  silence. 

"  I  have  been  harsh  to  you,"  he  said.  "  Can  you  forget  and 
pardon  it  !" 

"  It  is  you  who  have  to  pardon."  answered  Gertrude,  "  that  1 
should  have  dared  to  say  so  much." 

"  Your  duty  is  done  now,"  replied  be  ;  "  you  have  but  to  leave 
me  to  my  fate.     I  cannot  bring  Laura  to  poverty." 

"But  if  I  were  to  ask  one  more  favor,"  said  Gertrude, "  for  the 
last  time — tell  me  you  will  not  be  angry." 

She  spoke  faintly,  and  Edward  pushed  a  chair  towards  her,  and 
made  her  sit  down. 

"  I  have  talked  of  honor,"  she  continued  ;  "  but  i  felt  all  the 
time  that  it  was  a  low,  worldly  term.      <  >h,  Edward  !   even  honor 
must  so  soon  pass — it  is  but  a  dream  ;  and  if  yon  could  keep  A I 
[ingham,  and  be  happy  to  the  end  of  your  life,  it  would  be  Bucha 
mere  nothing,  it  seems  Btrange  thai  we  can  ever  think  about  it. 

So  that,  perhaps,  if  you  had  only  little,  and  knew  that   you  were 

exerting  yourself, — f  mean  if  you  had  just  enough  for  Laura  and 
yourself,  and  were  practising  in  j  our  profession, — you  mighl  be 
really  as  happy  as  you  have  bet  n.     And  if  you  could  bring  your- 
self to  ihmk  so,  and  would  take  what  I   have,  n  would  be 
thing  to  begin  upon.     It  is  not  Inn.'  to  what  you  have  bt  t  a  accus- 

.omed   to,    I    knO  \         — " 


286  GERTRUDE. 


Gertrude's  voice  grew  husky,  and  she  stopped.  Edward  strug- 
gled with  his  rising  agitation.  Gratitude  and  astonishment 
were  succeeded  by  far  different  feelings.  The  very  offer — the 
putting  it  in  his  power  to  give  up  Allingham  without  involving 
Laura  in  absolute  poverty,  seemed  like  the  completion  of  the  act. 
He  saw  himself  already  bereft  of  his  home — a  wanderer  upon 
the  world  ,  and  the  beauty  upon  which  his  eye  at  that  mo- 
ment rested,  was  but  an  aggravation  to  his  trial.  Gertrude  waited 
in  patient  expectation,  for  she  knew  what  must  be  passing  in  hia 
mind. 

"  You  will  hate  me,"  he  said,  at  length,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
dejection  ;  "  it  cannot  be  otherwise  ;  but  I  am  unworthy  of  such 
love." 

"  I  only  ask  that  you  should  not  reject  it  hastily,"  replied  Ger- 
trude ;  "  that  you  should  think  upon  it." 

"Andean  thinking  be  of  any  avail?  No,  Gertrude,  no  ;  the 
time  for  drawing  back  is  past.  But  when  you  would  condemn 
me,  remember  that  I  am  not  acting  for  myself." 

"  You  would  leave  an  inheritance  to  your  child,"  said  Ger- 
trude ;  "  but  if  it  is  purchased  by  the  sacrifice  of  right,  what  will 
be  its  value  ]  Poverty  is  hard  to  bear,  but  shame  and  self- 
reproach  are  still  harder." 

Edward  was  silent. 

"  When  you  have  done  all  that  is  in  your  power  to  retrieve  the 
past,"  continued  Gertrude  ;  "  when  Allingham  is  gone,  and  you 
have  entered  upon  your  new  life,  surely  there  will  be  happiness 
in  reflecting  that  you  have  resisted  a  great  temptation  ;  in  looking 
round  upon  the  world,  and  knowing  that  no  human  being  can  cast 
a  slur  upon  your  name." 

"My  name!"  exclaimed  Edward  vehemently.  "Yes,  you 
may  well  remind  me  of  it.  It  will  be  remembered  as  the  last  of 
the  Courtenays  of  Allingham." 

"And  if  it  should  be,"  replied  Gertrude,  gently  and  solemnly, 
"  it  is  but  a  name  of  Earth." 

Edward  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  His  thoughts  were  to  be 
read  in  the  changes  of  his  countenance.  It  was  as  the  struggle 
of  life  and  death,  and  Gertrude  turned  aside,  that  she  might  not 
witness  his  suffering.  When  he  again  spoke,  his  manner  was 
altered.  "  I  have  been  blind  and  thoughtless,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
whatever  may  be  the  consequences  of  my  folly,  I  cannot  involve 
you  in  it.  It  would  be  but  a  miserable  reward  for  affection 
which  can  never  be  forgotten.  If  I  am  to  bear  poverty,  it  shall 
be  alone.  Laura  would  never  endure  that  you  should  be  injured  ; 
and,  Gertrude,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  which  chilled  her  with  its 
quietness,  "  it  may  be  that  she  is  to  be  spared  the  bitterness  of 
my  trial." 

Gertrude  dared  not  comfort    him.     "  Why  will    you  talk  o( 


GERTRUDE.  2S7 


injury  ?"  she  said.     "  If  our  positions  were  changed,  how  should 
you  feel  ?" 

"  It  would  be  injustice,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  the  world  would  say 
it,  and  you  yourself  might  live  to  rue  the  day  on  which  you  had 
urged  me  to  consent.     You  may  marry." 

"  And  if  I  do,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  not  worse  oft"  than  thou- 
sands ;  but  I  may  also  die,  or"  (and  her  voice  changed)  "  I  may 
choose  to  appropriate  my  money  for  other  purposes.  My  duty, 
Edward,  cannot  lie  with  the  future  ;  that  is  in  the  hands  of  God, 
and  with  him  I  do  not  fear  to  trust  it." 

She  knelt  by  his  side,  and  threw  her  arm  around  his  neck, 
and  Edward  kissed  her  pale  forehead,  with  a  feeling  of  reverence 
and  affection  too  deep  for  words  to  have  told.  "  Gertrude,"  he 
said,  "  do  not  tempt  me.  You  may  be  about  to  mar  the  hap- 
piness of  your  whole  life.  It  is  not  a  common  risk  which  you 
will  run.  If  I  fail  in  my  profession  your  fortune  will  be  irrecover- 
ably gone." 

"  Then  let  it  go,"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly,  "  without  a  thought 
or  a  regret, — only  with  thankfulness  that  it.  was  bestowed  upon 
those  I  loved  so  dearly."  Edward  wavered.  The  vision  of  a 
name  unstained,  a  life  without  disgrace,  was  nerving  him  for  the 
sacrifice.  "  It  is  your  own  lesson,"  continued  Gertrude.  "  Years 
— vears  have  passed  since  it  was  first  taught  me.  Can  you  re- 
collect your  twelfth  birthday,  and  my  mother's  present  of  a  so- 
vereign"] I  cried  because  I  wished  to  have  one  too,  and  you 
came  to  me,  and  forced  me  to  accept  it,  because  you  said  I  will- 
ed it  more  than  you  did,  and  that  we  were  both  of  one  family,  and 
what  was  given  to  one  was  for  the  use  of  all.  Oh,  Edward  !  w  hy 
are  we  not  children  now  V 

It  was  the  whisper  of  an  angel's  voice,  and  Edward  could  not 
but  obey  it.     He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  Gertrude  i"-' 
and  stood  by  him,  motionless  as  a  lifeless  statue.     There  \\;i-  a 
long,  long  silence — a  hitter  conflict,  seen    hut  by  one  eye — and 
the  trial  was  over.    Halt"  an  hour  afterwards,  General  Forester's 
servant  was   returning   to   the    Grange,  bearing  a  letter  from 
Edward,  in  which   he   stated,  tint,  alter  deliberation,  \v   fell    it 
would  be  advisable  to  relinquish   the  honor  of  again  Btand 
for  the  county.     He  therefore  begged  General  Forester  to  ex 
press,  in  his  name,  his  grateful  thanks  to  the  friends  who  had 
hitherto   supported    him,  together  with   his   regret  thai   family 
circumstances  would  prevent  him  from  tnUiuir  any  active  pari  in 
the  coming  election.  The  letter  concluded  with  acknowled 
of  the  General's  exertions  in  his  behalf,  and  an  apology  tor  having 
led  him  to  suppose  on  tin'  previous  evening  thai  he  had  intended 
to  act  differently.     When  it  was  gone,  Edward  realized,  for  tin; 
first  time,  that,  by  his  own  an,  he  wa     ruined  without  hope  i  I 
redemption. 


288  GERTRUDE, 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

The  deed  was  done.  Edward  repeated  the  words  as  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  own  room,  and  Gertrude  pondered  upon  all  that 
was  involved  in  them,  as  she  returned  to  her  task  of  watching  by 
Laura's  bedside.  But  it  is  not  in  moments  of  excitement  that 
we  fully  know  what  sorrow  means.  There  is  a  greatness  in 
intense  suffering  which  unconsciously  ennobles  and  upholds  us. 
We  feel  that  we  are  called  to  act  a  part  above  our  fellow  crea- 
tures, and  the  knowledge  that  all  which  is  important  to  them  has 
suddenly  become  nothing  to  us,  gives  dignity  and  strength  to 
our  minds.  And  in  seasons  of  distress  men  are  more  to  be 
pitied  than  women.  Gertrude,  besides  the  unspeakable  relief 
which  her  brother's  decision  had  afforded  her,  found  many 
things  to  distract  and  occupy  her  thoughts.  Laura  required 
constant  attention,  and,  at  her  own  request,  she  agreed  to  remain 
with  her  for  several  hours,  whilst  others  took  their  rest.  The 
inquiries  of  friends  seemed  incessant,  and  verbal  answers  and 
notes  were  to  be  sent  in  return.  Edith  came  from  the  Priory, 
and  to  her  Gertrude  could  speak  without  reserve  ;  and  all  this, 
together  with  the  interest  of  writing  to  Mr.  Dacre,  and  making 
arrangements  for  Laura's  comfort,  served  to  pass  the  weary 
hours.  Fatigue  and  sleep  also  came  to  her  assistance  ;  but  not 
so  with  Edward.  He  was  chilly  and  uncomfortable,  and  his 
head  ached,  and  his  limbs  were  stiff;  but  he  had  no  thought  of 
rest.  From  Laura's  bedroom  to  the  hall,  and  from  the  hall  to 
his  study,  and  from  the  study  to  the  garden,  he  wandered  with- 
out object.  The  visit  of  Dr.  Grant  was  the  only  event  which 
seemed  left  him  to  anticipate.  His  bailiff  came  to  consult  him 
upon  some  farm  business,  but  he  was  sent  away.  What  good 
could  it  be  to  interest  himself  in  property  which  would  soon 
cease  to  be  his  ?  The  post  brought  letters,  but  most  of  them 
were  upon  parliamentary  business,  and  no  longer  concerned 
him  ; — only  a  few  bills  were  opened  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  and 
spread  out  before  him,  and  conned  with  an  abstracted  mind,  as 
if  the  mere  looking  at  them  might  be  the  means  of  diminishing 
<l>^jr  amount.  And  during  all  this,  Edward's  mind  was  revert- 
ing with  miserable  doubt  to  Laura's  state.  He  believed  her 
setter,  and   Dr.  Grant   had   assured  him  that  if  the  dangerous* 


GERTRUDE.  289 


!:ymptoms  did  not  increase,  he  might  reasonably  entertain  hope  ; 
but  the  blessing  seemed  greater  than  he  could  dare  to  expect. 
One  grief  makes  us  fear  another  ;  and,  with  a  self-tormenting 
spirit,  Edward  thought  over  all  he  should  feel  when  left  alone  ; 
the  bitterness  with  which  he  should  regard  every  object  connect- 
ed with  her  ;  the  loss  to  his  child  ;  the  hopelessness  for  the  long 
life  which  probably  lay  before  him;  till  in  agony  he  was  about 
to  pray,  that  if  she  were  taken  he  might  not  be  spared.  The 
prayer  was  not  uttered,  for  something  in  his  own  heart  made 
him  tremble  lest  it  should  be  granted.  And  so  the  day  wore  on. 
Dr.  Grant  came,  and  his  report  was  salisfactory  ;  and  when  he 
spoke  of  the  possibility  that  Laura  would  be  restored,  a  gleam 
of  happiness  passed  over  Edward's  darkened  heart.  But  it  was 
momentary.  How  should  he  dare  to  tell  her  the  miserable 
truth  ? 

It  was  late  in  the  evening,  after  a  sad  and  silent  dinner  with 
his  two  sisters,  that  he  resolved  upon  sending  for  Mr.  Rivers,  in 
order  to  take  some  immediate  steps  for  the  settlement  of  his 
affairs.  Gertrude  heard  him  say  that  he  was  going  to  write  a 
note,  and  suggested  that  the  walk  might  refresh  him  ;  and  the 
idea  was  seized  upon  with  avidity  :  it  was  something  to  do. 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again  to-night,  probably,"  she  said,  as  he 
took  his  hat  to  depart ;  "  I  am  going  to  bed.  We  have  a  nurse 
for  to-night,  and  Dr.  Grant  says  she  will  be  sufficient  alone." 

Edward  held  out  his  hand  ;  he  was  too  wretched  to  be  affec- 
tionate, and  Gertrude  was  deeply  hurt.  She  had  made  a  sacri- 
fice of  every  prospect  most  valuable  to  her,  and  after  the  fust 
moment  it  seemed  scarcely  to  be  appreciated.  Edward  had 
shown  her,  during  the  whole  day,  not  the  slightest  mark  of  pe- 
culiar regard.  But  a  person  must  be  far  advanced  in  goodness, 
before  grief  makes  him  thoughtful  for  others  ;  and  even  Ed- 
ward's kindness  of  heart  was  not  proof  against  the  numbing 
effects  of  his  sorrow. 

"  Don't  go  yet ;  this  is  the  first  moment  we  have  had  to- 
gether, alone,"  said  Charlotte,  as  Gertrude  was  leaving  the 
room. 

"  I  can  do  little  good  by  staying,  I  am  afraid,"  replied  Ger- 
trude. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  can,  by  telling  me  every  thing,  and  putting 
me  out  of  my  misery.     What  is  Edward  going  to  do  I" 

'•  1  can  say  it  to  you,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  you  are  nol  :i  pi 
to  be  overpowered.     He  must  give  up  all  he  has,  and  leave    \l- 
lingham." 

Charlotte  was  not  overpowered,  but   she   was   inexpre 

shocked. 

'•Thiii  is  the  win.'),  at  once,"  continued  Gertrude  "it  u 
best  for  some  minds  not  to  be  prepare  'I 

i:i 


290  GERTRUDE. 


"  Prepared  !"  said  Charlotte.  "  I  have  been  prepared  enougk 
all  day,  and  yesterday  too.  But  it  is  an  absurdity.  A  man  ol 
his  fortune  !     You  must  be  dreaming." 

"  What  do  you  think  his  fortune  is  ?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Six  thousand  a  year,  of  course." 

"  Two  ;  it  was  never  more." 

Charlotte  stood  in  mute  astonishment. 

"  It  was  mortgaged  when  he  came  into  possession,"  continued 
Gertrude :  "  Edith  knew  it  from  the  first." 

"  That  explains,  then,"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  interrupting  her. 
"  So  many  things  in  Edith's  manner  have  puzzled  me  for  a  long 
time,  besides  some  strange  hints  she  gave  me  yesterday  ;  but 
when  did  she  tell  you  V 

"  Two  or  three  days  ago  ;  she  has  had  a  great  deal  to  bear." 

"  And  has  made  other  people  bear  a  great  deal ;  but,  how- 
ever, I  don't  understand  now.  Edward  may  be  in  difficulties, 
but  what  you  say  is  impossible." 

"  Just  consider,"  replied  Gertrude.  "  He  set  out  with  Colonel 
Courtenay's  establishment,  which  was  princely ;  married,  and 
new-furnished  his  house.     Then  came  the  election." 

"  The  expenses  of  which  were  paid,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  So  it  was  understood  ;  but  we  both  know  Edward  too  well 
to  believe  he  would  accept  more  assistance  than  he  could  avoid. 
After  the  election  followed  the  house  in  town,  and  parliamentary 
dinners,  and  Laura's  grand  fetes:  and  open  house  here  in  the 
intervals.     No  fortune  of  two  thousand  a  year  would  stand  it." 

"  Two  thousand  a  year !"  repeated  Charlotte,  slowly.  "  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"  Whether  it  is  true  or  not,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  state 
of  Edward's  affairs  at  this  time." 

"  And  what  will  he  do  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte. 

"  I  don't  know,  at  present.  Return  to  his  profession  by  and 
by." 

"  Don't  hesitate,"  said  Charlotte  ;"  I  am  in  a  mood  to  hear 
any  thing." 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Gertrude,  quietly. 

"  And  enough,"  was  the  reply,  in  the  same  tone. 

Both  were  silent  for  several  minutes. 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  me,  Gertrude,"  said  Charlotte,  at  length ; 
"and  not  any  one  else." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  you  say  it  all  out  in  a  minute,  and  don't  moralize." 

"  It  is  a  case  for  action,  not  for  moralizing,"  replied  Ger- 
trude. 

"  If  you  would  give  me  the  world  I  could  not  cry,"  said 
Charlotte.     "  What  is  Edward  gone  to  see  Mr.  Rivers  for  V 

"  All  sorts  of  business,  I  suppose  ;  but  I  did  not  ask  him." 


GERTRUDE.  291 


"It  will  half  kill  mamma,'*  said  Charlotte. 

"Yes,  I  kave  thought  of  her;  but  it  must  be  broken  to  hei 
gently.  We  shall  see  how  to  manage  when  the  moment  comes." 

"  And  Laura  too — does  she  know  any  thing]" 

"  She  has  suspicions  ;  but  nothing  like  the  truth." 

"Wonderful  changes!"  exclaimed  Charlotte.  "  No  wonder 
you  have  looked  like  a  ghost  the  last  day  or  two.  And  how  hor- 
ridly people  will  talk  !     If  one  could  only  change  one's  name  !" 

Gertrude  could  not  avoid  smiling. 

"  It  is  a  happy  thing  that  no  strangers  are  here,"  she  said. 

"  Because  they  would  not  understand  ]  Very  possibly  not ; 
but  you  do.  I  am  as  unhappy  as  heart  can  desire  in  reality  ;  yet 
just  now — did  you  ever  hear  of  a  person  in  a  sort  of  trance 
knocking  his  head  against  a  wall  and  not  feeling  it  !" 

"  The  waking  will  come  soon  enough,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Yes  !"  and  Charlotte  sighed  from   the  bottom  of  her  heart. 
"  This  is  but  the  beginning  ;  but  we  will  not  sink,  Gertrude 
No  one  shall  pity  us." 

"  Not  if  we  can  help  it ;  for  my  mother's  sake  we  must  keep 
up." 

"  They  must  go  abroad,"  said  Charlotte,  after  some  consider 
ation. 

"  I  suppose  they  must,  for  a  year  or  so,  but  not  for  a  continu 
ance." 

••  How  will  they  manage  to  live  in  England  if  they  have  noth- 
ing 1  Edward's  profession  will  not  support  him  at  his  outset; 
and  he  will  never  hear  of  being  dependent  upon  us." 

"  lie  will  have  something,"  said  Gertrude.  "  You  know  my 
fortune  is  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can  spend." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  give  up  your  fortune,"  exclaimed  Char- 
lotte. 

"  Why  not  1  it  may  as  well  be  used  by  one  member  of  the 
family  as  another." 

Charlotte's  firmness  was  shaken.  Her  eyes  glistened  :  ami. 
with  an  earnestness  of  feeling  most  unlike  her  usual  cold,  light- 
hearted  indifference,  she  said,  as  Bhe  kissed  her  sister,  "  Ger- 
trude, if  I  were  only  certain  that  I  should  Borne  day  lie  liki 
you  !" 

The  next  moment  she  dashed  her  hand  across  her  eyelids' 
and  ran  out  of  the  room,  declaring  thai  sin-  had  been  wanted  U 
Ufce  the  nurse's  place  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before. 


202  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    XLII1. 

Three  days  bad  gone  by — days  of  wearisome,  anxious  watch 
ing  and  gloom.     Edward's  time  had  been  divided  between  Lau- 
ra?s  chamber  and  his  own  study ;  he  could  not  summon  resolu- 
tion to  go  beyond.     A  barrier   had  suddenly  sprung  up  between 
him  and  the  world,  in  which  he  had  played  so  busy  a  part  ;  and 
all  that  passed  in  it  was  now  but  "  as  the  idle  wind,  which  he 
regarded  not."     His  note  to  General  Forester  had  been  answered 
the  day  after  it  was  sent ;  but  even  the  cold  sarcastic  tone  in 
which  the  General  lamented  the  unfortunate  circumstances  that 
had  induced  him  so  totally  to  mislead  his  party,  nor  the  informa- 
tion that  a  personal  friend  of  his  own  was  about  to  occupy  his 
position  and  stand  for  the  county,  served  to  excite  pain.     Some 
hasty  expressions  of  contempt  escaped  him,  and  the  note  was 
tossed  aside,  and  thought   of  no  more.     Gertrude  noticed  his 
manner,  and  strove,  by  every  means  in  her  power,  to  interest 
him.     She  had  determined   upon  remaining  at  Allingham  with 
Charlotte,    notwithstanding  Edith's  entreaties    that    she    might 
share  the  fatigue,  for  she  could  tell,  from  the  few  words  which 
now  and   then  dropped   from   Edward,  that   he   disliked  seeing 
Edith  attempt  to  nurse  Laura.     He  remembered  her  neglect  in 
former  days,  and  he  fancied  that  Laura  herself  would  dislike  it. 
This  decision  was  a  sad  trial  to  Edith,  whose  only  wish  now  was 
to  atone,  as  much  as  lay  in  her  power,  for  her  former  conduct ; 
but  Gertrude  was  firm.     She  had  deemed  it  necessary  to  tell  Dr. 
Grant  her  opinion,  that  distress  of  mind    had   increased,  if  not 
entirely  brought  on,  Laura's  illness,  and  he  had    so  strongly  in- 
sisted upon   the  necessity  of  keeping  her  free  from  excitement, 
whenever  the  fever  should  decrease,  so  as  to  restore  her  to  con- 
sciousness, that  Gertrude  dreaded  to  allow  any  person  but  her- 
self to  remain  with  her.     She  entreated  Edward  to  keep  himself 
out  of  sight,  and  he  obeyed  ;  not  because  he  considered  it  neces- 
sary, but  because  his  spirit  was  so  sunk  that  he  had  not  energy 
to  resist ;  and  then  Gertrude  stationed  herself  in  the  sick  room, 
and  smoothed  the  pillow,  and  administered   the  medicine,  and 
bore  with   all  the  harassing  requirements  of  serious  illness,  till 
at  length  the  office  of  nurse  was  tacitly  yielded  to  her  ;  and  even 
Charlotte  only  came  into  the  room  now  and  then,  to  know  if  auv 


GERTRUDE.  293 


♦hing  was  wanted.  Gertrude  was  contented  at  her  post,  for  it 
occupied  her  usefully  ;  but  it  also  gave  her  much  leisure  for 
thought,  and  thought  was  very  bitter.  One  thing  seemed  abso- 
lutely necessary — that  Edward  should  be  told  of  Laura's  debts. 
To  leave  her  to  make  the  confession  herself,  when  both  mind  and 
body  were  weakened  by  illness,  would  be  out  of  the  question  ; 
but  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a  favorable  moment  for  the  disclo- 
sure. He  was  silent  at  breakfast,  silent  at  dinner,  silent  when- 
ever  they  met  in  the  course  of  the  day.  He  never  mentioned 
Laura's  name,  or  referred  to  the  past ;  and  Gertrude  shrunk  from 
intruding  upon  his  sorrow.  Every  i/our,  however,  increased  her 
anxiety  to  speak  to  him;  for  Dr.  Grant  became  more  hopeful  at 
each  visit,  and  spoke  confidently  of  his  expectation,  that  if  a 
tranquil  sleep  could  be  produced,  Laura  might  again  be  fully  re- 
stored to  them. 

Gertrude  was  in  the  room  alone  when  this  opinion  was  ex- 
pressed ;  and  Dr.  Grant  was  no  sooner  gone  than  she  hastened 
to  the  study.  Edward  was  there  engaged  in  looking  over  some 
papers,  which,  at  their  entrance,  he  thrust  into  a  drawer.  His 
countenance  did  not  give  her  encouragement;  and  the  tone  in 
which  he  inquired  what  she  was  come  for,  augured  ill  for  the  pa- 
tience with  which  he  would  be  inclined  to  hear  her.  She  inform- 
ed him  first  of  Dr.  Giant's  opinion,  and  he  expressed  himself 
deeply  thankful ;  but  when  she  still  lingered,  he  became  restless, 
and  glanced  at  the  door,  plainly  wishing  that  she  should  go. 
Gertrude  felt  that  the  shortest  would  also  be  the  best  way  of  pro- 
ceeding, for  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  bear  circumlocution. 
"If  Laura  should  get  well,"  she  began. 

"If!     You  have  just  told  me  that  Dr.  Grant  has  little  doubt 
of  it." 

"  Just  so,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  wanted  to  say  a  few  words." 
"  They  must  be  very  few,  then.  I  am  busy." 
Gertrude  bore  with  the  ungracious  permission,  and  in  a  man- 
ner of  perfect  gentleness  stated  to  him  briefly,  but  cautiously, 
the  circumstances  which  had  produced  so  deep  an  impression 
upon  Laura's  mind  ;  the  temptations  of  her  London  life  ;  her  be- 
lief that  Edward's  fortune  was  large  ;  Miss  Forester's  influence, 
and  the  power  which  she  had  obtained  by  assisting  her  in  her 
difficulties  ;  the  unhappiness  which  Laura  had  experienced  whilst 
conscious  that  she  was  deceiving  her  husband;  and  tin'  firm- 
ness with  which  at  last  she  had  resolved  to  give  np  all  offers  oi 
further  help,  and  confess  everything.  '"I  have  told  yon  mv- 
self,"  concluded  Gertrude,  "to  Bave  her,  and  in  order  that  you 
might  know  how  to  act  ;   and    now  I  will   go  :   but  von   Deed  nol 

trouble  yourself  with  regard  to  Miss  Forester ;  I  have  settled  net 
oart  of  the  busine 
She  was  about  to  l.avc  him,  but  be  caught  her  hand.     'I  ha 


294  GERTRUDE. 


settled  gloom  upon  his  countenance  had  given  way  to  an  expres- 
sion of  intense  suffering:  "Stay,  Gertrude,"  he  said. 

"  Not  now,  unless  you  have  questions  to  ask." 

"  No,"  he  exclaimed,  vehemently,  "  it  is  too  clear  for  questions. 
If  you  had  heen  here,  Gertrude,  all  might  have  been  different. 
It  was  Edith  who  threw  her  into  that  woman's  hands." 

"  Editn  has  suffered  much  for  her  error,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  It  was  cruel,"  he  continued  ;  "  Edith,  whom  I  trusted  so  en- 
tirely !  I  am  not  blind  to  my  own  faults.  I  know  they  have 
been  great, — so  great  that  at  times  I  dare  not  dwell  upon  them  ; 
but  my  offences  have  not  been  against  Laura's  happiness.  I  only 
loved  her  too  well,  and  therefore  I  could  not  mar  her  enjoyment 
by  crocking  it  as  I  should  have  done  ;  but  Edith  neglected  and 
repelled  her." 

"You  would  forgive  her,"  said  Gertrude,  "if  you  knew  her 
misery." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  not  forgive  !"  replied  Edward, 
solemnly  ;  "  but  she  can  never  make  amends.  Did  Laura  indeed 
dread  my  anger  ?  How  little  she  knew!"  He  stopped,  over- 
come by  the  ideas  which  crowded  upon  his  mind.  "  It  was  that 
one  concealment,"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  pause.  "  Fool  that  I 
was  !  if  I  had  but  told  her  all,  she  would  have  warned  and  sup- 
ported me.  And  you,  Gertrude,"  he  added,  "  who  have  done  no 
wrong,  must  be  punished  for  us  all !  Edith  thought  her  selfish," 
he  continued,  "  and  accused  her  to  me  of  selfishness  ;  but  she  had 
not  a  care  for  herself.  She  was  idolized  in  her  home,  and  when 
they  trusted  her  to  me,  they  thought  they  were  sending  her  to 
those  who  would  idolize  her  too.  Gertrude,  if  you  had  only  seen 
her  as  she  was  when  first  we  married,  you  would  own  that  it  was 
a  harsh  spirit  which  could  utter  a  word  against  her." 

"  There  are  few  to  equal  her  now,"  said  Gertrude,  feeling  that 
it  was  not  the  moment  to  attempt  Edith's  defence. 

"  She  was  perfect,"  exclaimed  Edward,  enthusiastically  ;  "  and 
she  was  happy  as  she  deserved  to  be.  She  knew  no  care  till  she 
knew  me,  and  I  made  her  give  up  all,  and  promised  to  cherish  and 
protect  her,  and  then  brought  her  to  misery." 

"  You  will  not  think  it  misery  by-and-by,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  If  it  is  not  so,"  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  it  will  be  through 
your  means.  Do  not  judge  me  hardly,  Gertrude.  I  may  seem 
to  you  cold  and  ungrateful,  but  it  is  only  from  wretchedness." 
The  tone  was  one  of  despair,  and  Gertrude  feared  to  allude  again 
to  the  former  subject,  though  she  knew  that  something  ought  to 
be  done  immediately  for  the  settlement  of  the  remainder  of  Lau- 
ra's debts.  But  Edward  had  lately  brought  himself  to  think 
over  the  details  of  business,  whatever  might  be  the  state  of 
his  mind.  With  a  calmness  which  surprised  while  it  pained  her, 
lie  asked  for  the  bills,  and  said  that  he  would  consult  Mr.  Ki« 


GERTRUDE.  295 


vers  as  to  the  best  mode  of  discharging  them.  "  It  will  be  the  firsi 
step,"  he  said,  "  towards  freeing  myself; — freeing  myself,  that 
is,  from  all  obligations  but  the  one  which  no  money  can  repay." 
The  words  were  common,  but  the  manner  in  which  they  were 
spoken,  and  the  look  which  accompanied  them,  sank  deeply  intc 
Gertrude's  heart.     She  left  him,  satisfied,  and  comparatively 
cheerful,    and    returned    to    Laura's    chamber.       She    had    not 
reached  it  before  the  door  was  very  softly  opened,  and  Charlotte's 
finger  was  held  up  in  token  of  silence.     Dr.  Grant's  prescription 
had  taken  effect,  and  Laura  was  sleeping.     Gertrude  beckoned 
her  sister-into  the  gallery,  and  then  entreated  her  to  leave  her 
alone  in  the  room  ;  but  Charlotte  strongly  objected,  saying  that 
no  one  could  tell   how  long  the  sleep  might  last,  and  that  Ger- 
trude was  not  equal  to  such  constant  fatigue.    There  was  a  little 
pique  mixed  with  Charlotte's  determination  ;  she  did  not  approve 
of  wholly  giving  up  the  duty  of  nursing,  and  she  was  not  unself- 
ish enough  to  see  that  there  are  times  when  sitting  idle  is  as 
great  a  virtue  as  exertion.     Gertrude  was  equally  firm,  though 
conscious  that  she  must  appear  wilful, — perhaps  unkind  and  Belf- 
ish.     It  was  essential  that  Laura's  mind  should  be  kept  quiet  on 
first  recovering  its  tone,  and  no  one  could  do  this  as  effectually 
as  herself;  but  it  was  not  easy  to  explain  this  to  Charlotte;  and 
when  at  length  the  point  was  yielded,  it  was  with  a  very  bad 
grace.      Gertrude  was   extremely  vexed.      Circumstances  had 
compelled  her  to  take  more  upon  herself  than  she  would  other- 
wise have  thought  of  doing;  and  it  was  peculiarly  disagreeable 
to  insist  upon  any  thing  in  which  her  own  gratification  seemed 
involved  ;  but  there  are  duties  to  be  performed  through  evil  re- 
port as  well  as  good,  and  this  was  one.   She  crept  into  the  room, 
and   sat   down    in   the  accustomed  chair.       Laura   lay  with  hei 
head  bent  down,  her  lips  apart,  and  her  thin  while   hands  spread 
upon    the    coverlet.       Her  breathing  was  so  still  that   it  could 
scarcely  be  heard,  and  a  horrible  suspicion  crossed  Gertrude's 
mind  as  she  watched  for  some  symptom  of  life.      There  was  not 
a  sound  in  the  house ;  her  least  movement  might  disturb,  and 
she  dared  not  summon  the  nurse;  and  hour  after  hour  she  sat  in 
the  same  posture,  her  dread  increasing  at  every  instant,  till  the 
sun  sunk  low  in  the  horizon,  and   its  part  mil'   rays  Bned  a  golden 
light  over  the  room,  and  lit  up  Laura's  pallid  features  with  some- 
thing of  an  unearthly  radiance.     Gertrude  trembled;  she  rose, 
'eant  over  her,  and  tried  to  listen  again  for  the  breathing,  but 

*ier nervousness  hail  beco  I  that  -he  could  hear hiug 

bu*  the  beating  of  her  own  heart.  With  a  faint  feeling,  from 
mingled  fatigue  and  alarm,  she  tried  to  reseat  herself  aa  before, 
but  her  foot  touched  the  chair,  pushed  it  along  the  door,  and  with 
the  noise,  slight  though  it  was,  Laura  awoke.  The  unspeakable 
relief  of  that  moment  Gertrude  nevei  forgot.     In  the  happiness 


296  GERTRUDE. 


of  finding  that  her  fears  were  unfounded,  she  did  not  even  ob 
serve  that  the  glaring  lustre  of  Laura's  eye  had  been  succeeded 
by  a  quiet,  natural  clearness,  and  when  her  name  wa    repeated 
in  a  sweet,  feeble  voice,  sne  started  as  if  awakened  from  a  dream. 

"  Is  it  very  late  V  asked  Laura,  as  she  looked  wonderingly  at 
her  sister. 

"  Not  very,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  but  you  have  been  asleep 
some  time." 

"  Asleep  !"  repeated  Laura,  and  she  glanced  restlessly  over 
the  room. 

"  Yes,  and  ill  too  ;  but  you  must  be  still  ;  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  talk." 

Laura  acquiesced,  for  even  these  few  words  were  an  effort ; 
but  after  a  few  moments  she  again  signed  to  Gertrude  to  draw 
near.  "  Did  you  say  I  had  been  ill !  Weren't  there  people 
about  ?     It  is  such  a  trouble  to  think." 

"  Wait  till  presently,"  said  Gertrude.  "  You  must  take  some- 
thing now." 

"  But  only  tell  me, — Edward, — why  is  he  gone  away?" 

"  Edward  is  not  gone  ;  he  is  here.  I  shall  go  and  tell  him 
you  are  better." 

"  But  he  won't  come  to  me,  I  know  ;  my  head  is  so  dizzy. 
What  is  it  that  is  so  dreadful  ?" 

"Nothing  is  dreadful,  dearest,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  and  Ed- 
ward will  come  to  you  presently,  when  you  are  strong  enough 
to  see  him." 

Laura  was  silent  from  exhaustion,  and  Gertrude  was  uncer- 
tain whether  to  assist  her  in  recalling  what  had  passed,  or  allow 
her  to  remember  it  gradually.  She  seemed,  however,  too  much 
weakened  for  thought  of  any  kind,  and  Gertrude  rang  for  the 
nurse,  that  something  might  be  given  her ;  but  she  would  not 
allow  any  one  else  to  be  told  of  the  amendment,  fearing  lest  Ed- 
ward's impatience  might  get  the  better  of  his  prudence,  and 
mischief  might  be  the  consequence.  When  her  strength  was  a 
little  restored,  Laura's  mind  again  began  working;  and  Gertrude, 
seeing  that  she  would  not  rest  till  every  thing  had  been  ex- 
plained, sent  a  message  to  Edward,  to  tell  him  that  he  need  no 
longer  be  uneasy,  but  entreating  him  on  no  account  to  come 
into  the  room  until  she  sent  for  him. 

"  Master  won't  listen  to  that,"  muttered  the  old  woman  as 
she  left  the  room  ;  and  Gertrude  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and 
returning  to  Laura,  resolved  to  say  at  once  all  that  was  neces- 
sary, if  she  found  that  her  sister  could  bear  it.  "You  will  be 
better  now,"'  she  said,  with  a  smile,  as  she  took  Laura's  hand, 
and  arranged  her  pillow. 

"  No,"  said  Laura  ;  "lam  not  better.  I  can't  remember  ;  i' 
is  very  unkind  in  you,  Gertrude,  not  to  help  me." 


GERTRUDE.  297 


"  I  will  help  you  now,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  you  have  been  ill  twn 
»r  three  days  ;  and  the  people  you  have  been  thinking  about  were 
at  the  archery  meeting." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"  said  Laura,  slowly  ;  "  but  that  was 
not  all.  There  was  something  dreadful.  Why  am  I  afraid  to 
see  Edward  1" 

"  Because  you  had  something  to  tell  him,  which  you  thought 
tvould  worry  him  ;  but  I  have  told  him  all,  and  he  does  not  care." 

"  Something!  I  thought  he  would  be  very  angry." 

"  It  was  about  Miss  Forester,"  said  Gertrude,  "and  the  money 
she  lent  yeu,  and  the  bills  from  London  ;  but  it  is  all  settled.  Ed- 
ward took  the  matter  very  quietly,  and  he  will  come  and  give 
you  a  kiss  whenever  you  wish  to  see  him.  I  think,  though,  you 
"had  better  lie  still  a  little  while  first." 

Laura  looked  distrustful.  "Why  should  I  not  see  him  at  once!" 
she  said.  "  Are  you  sure  he  loves  me  ]  Some  one  said  he  did 
not.     It  was  a  voice — I  heard  it  always." 

"  That  was  your  fancy  when  you  were  ill,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
"  but  he  will  come  soon,  and  tell  you  himself." 

"  Bills  ?  said  Laura,  thinking  ;  "  were  they  long  ones  ?" 

"  Rather  ;  but  don't  distress  yourself  about  them.  Edward  is 
not  at  all  displeased." 

A  slight  noise  was  heard — the  door  was  opened,  and  a  stealthy 
footstep  approached  the  bed.  Gertrude  knew  that  it  must  be 
Edward.  She  lifted  up  her  finger  to  stop  him,  but  Laura's  atten- 
tion was  attracted. 

"  Who  is  it  !"  she  said,  quickly,  as  she  tried  in  vain  to  rouse 
herself  to  see. 

"  Only  be  still,"  replied  Gertrude,  laying  her  band  upon  her. 

"  It  was  Edward,"  said  Laura,  in  an  agony  of  expectation  : 
"  is  he  gone  without  speaking  ]  Then  he  has  not  forgiven.  Oh  ! 
Gertrude,  why  did  they  not  let  me  die  V 

Edward  heard  the  words,  notwithstanding  the  faint  tone  in 
which  they  were  spoken  ;  and,  regardless  of  his  Bister's  warning, 
came  forward  suddenly.  Laura's  eyes  met  his  with  a  fixed,  ear- 
nest gaze.  She  held  his  hand  as  he  bent  over  her,  ami  w  hispered 
words  of  purest  affection  and  thankfulness,  hut  she  could  not  ar- 
ticulate a  reply  ;  and  by  degrees  her  feeble  grasp  was  relaxed 
ber  head  drooped,  and  she  fainted  away. 


298  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

The  calm  which  follows  a  storm  may  be,  and  often  is,  a  sea 
eon  of  thankfulness  and  hope  ;  but  it  may  be  also  nothing  but 
the  lulling  of  the  winds  before  the  gathering  of  another  tempest; 
and  so  it  was  felt  at  Allingham.  All  things  were  returning  to 
their  usual  course.  Laura's  good  constitution  had  borne  her 
through  the  trial  of  severe  illness,  and  now  it  assisted  her  in  re- 
gaining her  lost  powers.  Day  by  day  some  new  progress  was 
made,  trifling,  perhaps,  and  only  marked  by  the  eye  of  affection, 
but  serving  to  show  that  she  might  in  time  be  restored  to  her 
former  health.  Gertrude  seldom  left  her,  and  ventured  by  de- 
grees to  talk  to  her  upon  the  suhjects  weighing  upon  her  mind. 
And  when  her  memory  grew  clearer,  Edward  himself  encourag- 
ed her  to  speak  openly.  But  her  confessions,  in  their  simplici- 
ty and  humility,  were  often  very  painful.  She  told  of  her  vanity 
and  weakness ;  and  he  remembered  his  own.  She  entreated 
him  to  forgive  her  deception  ;  and  the  sin,  not  of  months,  but  of 
years,  lay  upon  his  own  breast ;  and  she  promised  amendment, 
and  begged  him  to  guide  and  teach  her,  at  the  very  moment 
when  he  felt  that  his  own  errors  had  marred  his  happiness  for 
life.  Laura  saw  that  something  was  amiss,  but  she  attributed 
it  to  regret  at  her  own  conduct,  and  this  brought  deeper  expres- 
sions of  repentance  than  before  ;  till  Edward  was  often  on  the 
point  of  acknowledging  the  truth,  without  thinking  of  the  conse- 
quences, merely  to  save  himself  the  wretchedness  of  feeling  he 
was  deceiving  her.  One  thing  he  was  obliged  to  own,  that  he 
had  declined  standing  again  for  the  county  ;  but  this,  though 
startling  intelligence,  did  not  awaken  suspicion,  for  Laura's 
mind  was  not  exactly  clear  as  to  all  that  had  occurred  previous 
to  her  illness,  so  as  to  enable  her  to  put  facts  together,  and  rea- 
son upon  them.  She  thought  that  he  must  be  tired  of  the  re- 
sponsibility, and  perhaps  willing  to  avoid  the  expense ;  but 
this  was  all  ;  and  her  own  feeling  was  that  of  satisfaction,  for 
with  her  newly-forrned  resolutions,  it  would  be  keeping  her  out 
of  the  way  of  temptation.  But  the  time  was  fast  approaching 
when  concealment  would  no  longer  be  possible.  Edward's  em- 
barrassments became  more  and  more  pressing,  and  Mr.  Rivers 
urged  the  necessity  of  some  decisive  step  being  taken,  for  ru- 


GERTRUDE.  299 


mors  were  afloat,  and  commented  on,  and  circulated,  by  all  but 
his  own  family.  Mrs.  Courtenay,  with  that  happy  buoyancy  ot 
spirit  which  can  accommodate  itself  to  all  circumstances,  no 
sooner  learnt  that  Edward  had  resolved  upon  giving  up  the 
election,  than  she  declared  it  was  by  far  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  been  done.  It  had  always  been  too  much  for  him  ;  and  now 
he  would  be  able  to  live  quietly  at  Allingham  with  dear  Laura, 
and  they  should  see  so  much  more  of  him.  She  quite  looked 
lorward  to  the  winter,  and  he  would  be  able  to  give  such  nice 
parties  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  she  never  went  to  any  of  them  foi 
fear  of  taking  cold  ;  but  it  was  pleasant  to  think  other  people 
were  enjoying  themselves.  The  observations  were  made  to 
Charlotte,  whose  reply  was  brief  and  unceremonious  ;  and  Edith, 
who  was  present,  also  escaped  as  quickly  as  possible,  to  go  to 
her  own  room. 

"  There  is  but  one  comforting  thought  in  the  whole  of  (be 
business,"  said  Charlotte,  following  her,  "  and  that  is,  that  i( 
Edward  is  not  member,  no  other  of  his  party  will  be.  I  care  not 
one  iota  about  politics,  but  I  could  not  bear  the  notion  of  his  being 
thrust  aside,  and  no  one  missing  him." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  no  one  el.se  will  be  ?" 

"  Because  there  is  a  split  among  them.  Mr.  Dacre,  or  some 
one,  was  saying  so  this  morning  ;  and  there  is  to  be  an  opposi- 
tion. There  would  have  been  none  if  Edward  had  stood  ;  and  1 
saw  General  Eorester  ride  past  just  now,  as  I  was  standing 
at  the  Lodge  gate,  and  I  thought  he  looked  as  black  as  .No- 
vember." 

"  That  accounts  for  General  Forester's  being  so  anxious  about 
Edward,"  said  Edith;  " but,  however,  it  does  not  Bignify  to  ua 
now.  Public  affairs  are  all  very  well  when  there  is  nothing  else 
to  think  of,  but  that  is  not  the  case  with  u 

"  And  will  not  be  for  many  a  long  day.  I  wish  Edward  would 
settle  something.  This  living  with  a  sword  hanging  over  one's 
head  is  not  agreeable." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  lightly,  Charlotte  '"  exclaimed  Edith. 

"  No,  it  is  not  lightly  ;  it  is  sober  truth.  But  there  is  no 
in  putting  on  a  sad  face  ;  misfortunes  are  never  the  less  for  our 
being  doleful  about  them.  Life  to  me  is  very  like  a  furze  brake; 
you  must  be  scratched,  go  which  way  you  will  ;  bul  if  you  Bt<  p 
out  boldly,  and  make  up  your  mind  not  to  care,  you  are  sure  to 
be  better  off  than  you  expected." 

"We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  very  thick   furze   brake  just  at 
■■nl,"  said  Edith. 

"  Yes,  very  ;   but  we  shall  see  our  way  out  of  it  by  and  DJ  ." 

"  1  wish  Jane:  knew  it,"  said  Edith  ;  "  I  really  think  1 1 i  fhl 

Ai  be  told." 
"What  for'  to  make  her  uncomfortable   before  there  i  any 


300  GERTRUDE. 

occasion  ?  Just  leave  her  to  me ;  I  understand  her  belter  thar 
you  do,  and  I  will  tell  her  when  it  is  necessary." 

"  But  she  will  be  annoyed  at  being  the  only  ignorant  one," 
said  Edith. 

"  We  cannot  help  that.  For  all  our  sakes  she  must  be  kept 
quiet  as  long  as  possible.  You  know  what  she  is  like  when 
things  go  wrong." 

Edith  did  know  from  bitter  experience.  A  vision  of  dark 
looks,  sharp  words,  and  a  fit  of  hysterics,  presented  itself;  and, 
following  Charlotte's  counsel,  she  said  no  more  about  telling 
Jane. 

But  though  Edith  and  her  sisters  were  so  regardless  of  pub- 
lic affairs,  Edward  still  felt  some  interest  in  them.  He  received 
the  information  of  the  progress  of  the  election  with  an  air  of 
proud  indifference  ;  but  when  at  length  the  news  reached  him 
of  the  defeat  of  his  former  friends,  he  felt  a  momentary  satisfac- 
tion ;  for  it  proved  that  his  own  importance  had  been  greater 
than  he  imagined.  If  he  had  stood,  no  one  would  have  ven- 
tured to  oppose  him.  He  was,  however,  too  wretched  and  too 
penitent  to  dwell  upon  the  idea;  and,  after  a  little  exertion,  so 
disciplined  his  mind,  that  even  the  report  of  some  hasty  expres- 
sions made  use  of  by  General  Forester  against  him,  scarcely 
excited  his  indignation.  The  General  had,  in  truth,  considera- 
ble cause  for  annoyance.  With  Edward's  retirement  and  the 
downfall  of  his  party  was  involved  the  loss  of  his  own  position. 
He  was  no  longer  the  friend  and  adviser  of  the  county  member, 
possessing  influence  and  occasionally  patronage,  and  the  change 
was  keenly  felt.  His  ambition  had  been  low,  but  earnest ;  and 
in  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment,  he  accused  Edward  ol 
inconsistency,  and  even  duplicity.  Miss  Forester  shared  his 
feelings,  though  in  a  different  way.  The  enjoyments  of  the  last 
four  years  were  now  at  an  end.  Under  any  circumstances  she 
felt  that  her  intimacy  with  Laura  must  cease,  and  with  it  much 
of  the  pleasure  derivable  from  luxuries  and  amusements,  which 
to  her  were  the  grand  objects  of  her  life.  But  Miss  Forester's 
selfishness  did  not  render  her  wholly  callous  to  the  misery  that 
might  be  the  result  of  Mr.  Courtenay's  embarrassments, — the 
report  of  which  was  now  very  generally  believed.  She  had 
some  regard  for  Laura, — deeper  than  she  herself  was  aware 
of — and  her  anxiety  during  her  illness  had  been  sincere  ;  and 
when  she  remembered  that  she  had  done  her  utmost  to  encourage 
the  thoughtlessness  which  seemed  about  to  bring  such  fata! 
consequences,  something  like  repentance  arose  in  her  heart. 
She  did  not  dare  offer  her  society  or  assistance  ;  but  if  they  had 
been  sought,  her  mind  would  have  been  relieved  from  a  burden 
of  unusual  weight. 

It  was  a  day  of  exquisite  beauty  when  Laura  was  first  car- 


GERTRUDE.  301 


ried  out  of  doors,  and  laid  on  a  sofa  under  the  colonnade.  The 
season  had  been  unusually  fine,  and  the  garden,  instead  of 
being  burnt  up  by  a  scorching  sun,  retained  very  much  the  ap- 
pearance of  early  spring.  Laura,  her  mind  relieved  from  great 
care,  felt  as  if  she  had  never  before  enjoyed  the  loveliness  of 
her  home.  She  delighted  in  the  sunshine,  the  birds,  and  flow- 
ers,— the  lights  and  shadows  upon  the  lawn,  and  the  soft  warm 
breeze  that  fanned  her  cheek.  She  could  not  believe  that  the 
summer  was  so  nearly  gone,  and  appealed  perpetually  to  Edward 
to  join  in  her  ecstasies. 

"  Now-  that  you  have  given  up  the  election,"  she  said,  "  we 
shall  have  so  mich  time  together,  and  I  intend  to  make  you 
fond  of  gardening ;  and  in  September  it  will  he  such  delicious 
weather  for  riding.  I  suppose  by  that  time  I  shall  be  strong 
enough  to  bear  it.  Edward,  dearest,  don't  be  so  grave,  it  makes 
me  unhappy.     Do  teach  him  to  smile,  Gertrude." 

"I  would  if  I  could,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Gertrude,  at- 
tempting to  smile  herself;  "  but  he  is  obstinate.  I  see  Mr.  Da- 
cre  coming,"  she  added;  "but  I  shall  not  let  him  talk  to  you 
now;  you  have  had  enough  excitement  for  to-day." 

This  was  perfect! \  true  ,  but  Gertrude  was  not  sorry  to  have 
an  excuse  for  a  tete-a-tete,  for  it  was  her  chief  comfort.  Tins 
day,  however,  she  had  less  satisfaction  than  usual  ;  Mr.  Dacre 
was  looking. very  ill,  and  walked  feeblj  ;  and  Gertrude  fancied 
she  could  see  the  effects  of  thought  and  anxiety  fur  her  brother. 
}le  was  not  a  person  to  take  a  hall-interest  in  a  character  like 
Edward's  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  consciousness  that  his  ow  n  strength 
was  rapidly  diminishing,  and  that,  m  all  human  probability,  he 
should  never  live  u,  witness  the  effect  of  the  change  of  circum- 
stances upon  Mr.  Courtenay's  mind,  served  to  increase  Ins  care, 
and  made  him  peculiarly  watchful  for  the  little  indications  of 
firmness  and  resolution,  which  he  fancied  he  discovered  in  the 
course  of  their  conversations.  Laura  followed  Gertrude  with 
her  eye,  till  she  had  joined  .Mr.  Dacre,  and  taken  his  ami,  and 
turned  into  the  shrubbery;  and  linn,  looking  at  Edward, 
said, 

"We  are  alone,  now,  Edward;  there  can   he  no  reai lor 

jot  speaking  out.     Why  are  you  bo  changed  !" 

"1  have  had  enough  to  change  me,"  he  replied,  "if  it  were 
jnly  fear  for  you." 

"Yes,  my  illno>s ;  hot  not  other  things,-  you  tell  me  you 
nave  forgotten  ihem ;  audit'  J  though!  you  had  not,  I  should 
never  forgive  myself." 

"Forgotten!"   he  exclaimed;  "if  every  thing   were  bi 
easy  to  forget  as  that,  [should  indeed  be  a  fortunate  man." 

"  Hut  1  am  the  cause  of  your  vexation  !" 

"  Ves :'    and  then  checking  him  elf,  he  added,  in  u  indifler 


302  GERTRUDE. 


ent  a  tone  as  he  could  assume,  "  you  must  always  be,  since  you 
are  clearer  to  me  than  any  thing  on  earth." 

Laura  looked  agitated  and  excited,  and  Edward  was  fright- 
ened. 

"  It  is  all  nothing,"  he  said,  carelessly ;  "  every  one  has 
moods.     Don't  you  think  you  have  been  here  long  enough  V 

"  I  have  not  been  out  ten  minutes.  You  never  used  to  have 
moods." 

"  Yes,  frequently  ;  only  you  don't  remember." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  things  I  don't  remember,"  said 
Laura;  "but  it  will  all  come  again  in  time,  I  hope.  What 
should  you  say,  Edward,  if  it  did  not!" 

"  Why  ask  ?"  he  said  anxiously.     "  Do  you  feel  worse  T" 

"  Not  exactly,  but  I  think  sometimes  it  would  be  very  disa- 
greeable always  to  feel  as  1  do  at  present." 

A  deeper  gloom  overspread  Edward's  countenance. 

"  You  want  change,"  he  said,  and  paused.  "  Will  you  go 
abroad  ?" 

The  tone  was  startlingly  abrupt,  but  Laura  did  not  remark  it. 

"  Really,  are  you  in  earnest  V  she  exclaimed,  and  her  eves 
sparkled  with  almost  childish  delight. 

"Will  you  go!" 

"  Yes,  everywhere  with  you;  but  abroad  would  be  so  very 
delightful!  You  have  often  promised  you  would  take  me  again, 
and  there  has  always  been  some  reason  against  it." 

"  There  is  none  now,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  gloomy  voice. 

"And  the  season  of  the  year  would  be  so  good,"  continued 
Laura,  "if  we  set  off  at  once.  September  is  always  fine,  and 
deliciously  cool.  Do  you  remember  what  torrents  of  rain  we 
had  when  we  were  in  Normandy,  four — nearly  five — years  ago  ! 
How  time  passes!     Ah,  Edward,  we  were  very  happy  then!" 

"  Are  you  not  happy  now  1" 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  ;  but  there  is  something  in  being  very  young, 
and  not  having  known  what  care  meant.  And  all  was  so  new 
to  me.  Only  Allingham  I  think  is  pleasanter  and  dearer  every 
year." 

Edward  suddenly  left  her  side,  but  immediately  returned. 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  Allingham V  he  asked. 

"  What  a  question  !  Is  there  any  other  spot  on  earth  which 
has  half  its  charms!" 

"  Will  you  leave  it  ?" 

There  was  that  in  his  voice  which  made  Laura  look  up  into 
his  face,  and  shrink  from  the  expression  which  she  saw  there. 

"  What  do  you  mean  1"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  frighten  me, 
Edward.     Why  are  you  so  strange  V 

Edward  felt  that  he  had  done  wrong,  but  he  could  not  retract. 

"  Tell  me,  Laura,"  he  said,  "  if  you  had  united  your  fortune* 


GERTRUDE.  303 


with  those  of  a  man  whom  the  world  thought  wealthy, — if  he 
deceived  you  for  years,  and  suffered  you  to  act  wrongly,  and  set 
you  the  example,  and  then  brought  you  and  your  child  to  ruin, — 
how  should  you  feel  I" 

Laura  gazed  on  him,  bewildered  and  alarmed. 

"  You  would  hate  and  despise  him,"  continued  Edward,  vehe- 
mently ;  "  and  with  justice.  But  if  he  loved  you,  Laura, — loved 
you, — idolized  you, — felt  that  life  was  only  endurable  when  shared 
by  you, — if  his  deception  was  but  the  result  of  an  affection  so 
great  that  it  would  have  ransacked  the  whole  world  to  gratify 
your  slightest  wish, — could  you  forgive  him  !" 

"  Who  1  What  !"  exclaimed  Laura.  "  You,  Edward  t  Is 
it  real  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Edward,  bitterly  :  "  you  may  well  ask  '  Is  it 
real  ?'  Who  would  believe  that  the  man  whom  hundreds  hon- 
ored,— the  man  who  dared  to  seek  your  love, — could  act  a  part 
so  base  ?  Yet,  Laura,  I  am  he, — most  miserable, — most  un- 
worthy." 

He  cast  himself  on  the  ground  beside  her,  and  as  he  bent  his 
head  on  her  hands,  scalding  tears  of  anguish  fell  upon  them. 
A  mist  seemed  suddenly  io  vanish  from  Laura's  eyes.  The  dim 
past  came  vividly  before  her,  and  the  rumors  which  before  her 
illness  had  been  so  little  regarded,  returned  clearly  to  her  recol- 
lection. 

"  Edward,  dearest,"  she  said  gently,  "  this  is  not  the  posture 
for  yon.  If  sorrow  is  at  hand,  who  shall  teach  me  to  bear  il  if 
you  fail?" 

Edward  clasped  her  hand  convulsively. 

"Why  should  you  fear  to  tell  me  alii"  continued  Laura. 
"  Am  I  not  your  wife  ]     Is  not  our  existence  one  '" 

'•  Ves,"  he  exclaimed,  rising  suddenly;  "and  therefore  the 
more  wretched  !  Lima,  you  little  know  what  is  before  you.  I 
am  ruined.     Allingham  can  no  longer  be  your  home." 

He  bent  upon  her  a  steadfast  gaze,  as  if  to  read  her  inmost 
thoughts;  but  she  did  not  shrink  from  it.  The'  Bight  of  Ins  griel 
had  nerved  her,  and  not  a  muscle  of  her  countenance  moved: 
only  the  faint  tinge  of  red  forsook  her  cheek,  and  her  voice  slight- 
ly shook  as  she  said — 

"  My  home  is  in  your  heart.  While  you  are  spared  to  me,  all 
trials  will  be  light." 

••And  can  you  indeed  say  so  1"  exclaimed  Edward.  And 
sending  over  her,  he  imprinted  a  long,  fervent  kisa  upon  her 
Drow. 

"  JJnt  you  have  never  felt  privation,  and  how  will  you  bear 
that  Charlie's  lot  in  life  should  be  bo  different  from  that  to  which 
he  was  born  !" 


304  GERTRUDE. 


"  If  it  is  your  lot,"  replied  Laura,  "  you  will  teach  him  to  sup- 
port it  nobly  ;  and  for  myself,  I  am  not,  Edward,  what  I  was. 
I  have  lived  many  years  within  the  last  few  months,  and  life  can 
never  again  be  the  light  and  valueless  thing  I  once  thought  it. 
If  you  could  give  me  boundless  wealth,  it  could  not  make  me 
happy  ;  and  I  trust  I  should  not  wish  it  for  my  child." 

"  But  the  shame, — the  ridicule, — "  exclaimed  Edward. 

"  Let  them  come.  I  have  deserved  them,  if  not  for  this,  for 
other  and  worse  follies.     Only  tell  me  all  that  has  happened." 

Edward  hesitated,  for  Laura  sank  back  on  her  sofa,  ex- 
hausted. 

"  I  would  rather  hear  it  now,"  she  said  earnestly  ;  "  and  you 
would  rather  too." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can  bear  delay.     The  worst  suffering  is  past." 

Laura  however  again  entreated,  and  Edward  then  confided  to 
her  the  whole  state  of  his  affairs,  together  with  the  weakness 
which  had  caused  him  to  conceal  from  her  the  heavy  claims 
upon  his  estate,  when  first  they  married. 

"  It  is  this  which  lies  heaviest  on  my  conscience,"  he  said. 
"It  was  the  root  of  all  other  errors.  And,  Laura,  if  you  have 
ceased  to  respect  me " 

Laura  stopped  him. 

"  Do  not  recall  my  own  faults.  Love  might  be  your  excuse, 
Edward,  but  fear  could  not  be  mine." 

Edward  heaved  a  bitter  sigh.  His  wife's  humility  and  strength 
of  character  were  as  so  many  reproaches  for  the  part  he  had  acted 
towards  her. 

"  I  would  rather  you  should  speak  hardly  of  me,"  he  said 
"  I  could  bear  any  thing  but  this  ;  and  I  feel  you  must  be  mise 
rable." 

Laura's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  answered — 

"  Oh,  Edward,  is  affection  indeed  of  so  little  worth  in  youi 
estimation  ?  When  I  vowed  to  love,  to  honor,  and  obey  you, 
was  it  for  your  money  and  your  position  ]  If  you  had  been  poor 
and  homeless,  to  have  been  your  wife  would  have  been  greater 
happiness  than  to  have  been  united  to  the  wealthiest  noble  in 
the  land.  And  now,  what  have  I  done,  that  you  should  doubt 
me  ?" 

"  Doubt  youi"  exclaimed  Edward.  "  No,  never  for  one  mo- 
ment. You  are  my  hope, — my  comfort, — my  precious,  inesti- 
mable treasure  !  You  will  endure  with  an  angel's  patience  ;  but 
it  will  still  be  endurance,  and  I  shall  be  the  cause.  And,  Laura, 
there  is  one  thing  yet  untold.  What  if  our  only  prospect  of 
subsistence,  until  I  can  rise  in  my  profession,  should  be  by  de- 
pendence 1" 

Laura's  cheek  flushed  crimson. 


GERTRUDE.  305 


"  You  would  not  consent,"  she  said,  eagerly. 

"  Not  if  Gertrude  entreated, — if  she  said  that  her  happiness 
depended  on  it  T" 

Laura  looked  at  him,  to  discover  his  meaning,  and  then  burst 
into  tears.     At  that  instant  Gertrude  returned. 

"  I  have  done  it,"  exclaimed  Edward,  in  a  frightened  voice,  as 
he  hastened  towards  her.  "  I  can  t  tell  what  possessed  me.  Why 
did  you  leave  us,  Gertrude'?" 

"  You  ha\re  not  told  her  all  ?"  said  Gertrude,  alarmed  in  her 
turn. 

"  Yes— "-all.  I  could  not  help  it.  It  was  agony  to  be  with  her 
longer,  and  deceive  her." 

"  And  she  has  borne  it — how  V 

"  Nobly,  wonderfully  !  I  never  understood  her,  or  appreciated 
her,  till  to-day.  But  go  to  her,  Gertrude  ;  she  can  consent  to  all 
but  what  you  would  do  ;  and  I  cannot  consent  either." 

lie  walked  into  the  house,  and  Gertrude  quietly  seated  herself 
by  her  sister's  side.  Laura  tried  to  raise  herself,  and  when  Ger- 
trude put  her  arm  round  her  to  assist  her,  she  leant  her  head  on 
her  shoulder,  and  sobbed  with  the  weakness  of  a  child.  Gertrude 
kissed  and  soothed  her,  and  strove  to  restore  her  to  composure  ; 
but  her  presence  only  seemed  to  increase  Laura's  distress  ;  though 
once,  when  she  attempted  to  leave  her,  Laura  caught  her  hand, 
and  signed  to  hei  to  remain. 

"  I  cannot  think  of  it,"  she  said  at  length,  in  broken  words, 
"  for  you  to  suller.     I  could  beg  my  bread  rather." 

"  We  will  not  talk  of  it  now,  dearest,"  said  Gertrude.  "  When 
you  are  better  you  shall  hear  all  I  have  to  say,  ami  no  one  .shall 
force  you  to  do  any  thing  against  your  will  ;  but  Edward  must 
carry  you  to  your  room,  lie  has  done  enough  mischief  lor  to- 
day." 

"  I  would  bear  all  pain, — all  imaginable  pain,"  whispered 
Laura,  "  rather  than  you  should " 

"  Yet  you  will  not  agree  to  the  only  plan  which  will  save  me 
from  it?" 

Laura  was  goinjj  to  answer,  but  Gertrude  would  not  give  hei 
the  opportunity  ;  and  summoning  Edward,  insisted  upon  her  lw- 
ing  left  without  disturbance  for  several  hours. 


308  GERTRUDE. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

Edward  bad  said  that  his  worst  trial  was  over,  and  so  perhaps 
it  was.  There  was  at  least  no  longer  any  thing  to  conceal, — no 
necessity  for  appearing  cheerful  when  his  heart  was  sinking  in 
despondency.  But  there  was  also,  now,  no  pretext  for  further 
delaying  his  ultimate  intentions.  Before  the  winter,  Allingham 
must  be  left ;  and  in  Laura's  delicate  state,  a  few  weeks  might 
make  a  considerable  difference  in  the  prudence  of  travelling. 
For  this  was  the  final  arrangement.  A  twelvemonth's  residence 
abroad  would  give  Mr.  Rivers  time  for  settling  Edward's  af- 
fairs, and  enabling  him  to  return  to  his  country  with  freedom 
and  honor  ;  and  he  would  then  take  the  necessary  measures  for 
again  resuming  his  profession.  And  all  this  sounded  easy  ;  but 
how  much  was  involved  in  it !  How  many  bitter  remembrances, 
and  self-accusations  for  the  past ! — how  many  sad  visions  for 
the  future  !  It  required  all  Edward's  newly-strengthened  prin- 
ciples to  teach  him  to  submit  to  the  duty  before  him.  If  there 
had  remained  any  hope  of  a  competency,  however  small,  out  of 
the  wreck  of  his  fortune,  he  might  probably  have  been  tempted 
to  continue  abroad  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  rather  than 
brave  the  observations  which  must  follow  his  intended  line  of 
conduct.  But  to  be  dependent  upon  Gertrude,  to  feel  that  he 
was  depriving  her  of  her  right  merely  to  gratify  his  own  weak- 
ness, was  impossible ;  and  if,  for  a  moment,  his  resolution  wa- 
vered, Laura  was  at  hand  to  warn  and  support  him.  Trial, 
with  her,  was  indeed  working  its  great  end,  repentance  and 
amendment.  Her  step  was  slow,  and  her  eye  dim,  and  her  whole 
Dearing  thoughtful  and  sometimes  sad,  but  not  in  Edward's  pre- 
sence. With  him,  she  was  cheerful,  contented,  sanguine ;  oc- 
cupied only  in  endeavoring,  as  far  as  lay  in  her  power,  to 
smooth  the  rugged  path  upon  which  he  had  entered.  If  she 
could  not  actively  exert  herself,  she  could-  write  for  him,  and 
think  for  him ;  she  could  discuss  his  plans,  and  brighten  his  dark 
prospects,  by  hopeful  smiles,  till  even  in  the  midst  of  his  grief 
Edward  sometimes  felt  that  a  spring  of  happiness  had  opened 
in  his  desert  life  which  might  make  amends  for  all  that  he  had 
ost.  But  this  was  but  seldom.  Too  heavy  a  burden  lay  upon 
his  conscience  to  be  cast  suddenly  aside.  His  offences  were 
armors  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-creatures,  but  they  were  sins  be- 


GERTRUDK.  30" 


fore  God,  and  the  sins  of  years,  in  the  face  of  warnings  and  in- 
structions;  and  years  must  pass  before  he  could  hope  to  enjoy 
that  peace  of  mind  which  long-confirmed  habits  of  watchful  obe- 
dience alone  can  give.  The  plans  were  at  length  definitely  fixed. 
The  day  of  departure,  the  route,  the  place  of  destination.  Ed- 
ward had  committed  his  affairs  without  reservation  to  Mr.  Rivers, 
in  the  certainty  that  all  would  be  done  which  talent  and  integrity 
could  effect,  and  two  things  only  remained  to  be  thought  of:  the 
one,  the  best  mode  of  breaking  the  intelligence  to  Mrs.  Courte- 
nay  ;  the  other . 

"  Gertrude  will  not  consent  to  it,"  said  Edward,  when  Laura 
first  proposed  it.  "  To  leave  her  home  for  a  twelvemonth  !  1 
think  you  can  hardly  ask  it." 

"  She  will  tell  us  at  once  if  it  cannot  be,"  rpplied  Laura  ;  "  and 
it  might  be  less  painful  than  remaining  behind." 

"  That  will  not  weigh  in  the  scale,"  said  Edward.  "  But  you 
must  write  to  her.  It  is  not  fair  to  take  a  person  by  surprise  in 
these  cases." 

The  note  was  written.  It  was  urgent  and  affectionate,  beg- 
ging that,  if  it  were  possible,  Gertrude  would  agree  to  accom- 
pany them. 

"  If  it  were  merely  a  question  of  pleasure,"  wrote  Laura,  "  I 
should  hesitate  in  asking,  knowing  the  claims  you  already  have 
at  home;  but,  dearest  Gertrude,  there  are  many  things  in  which 
you  are  become  necessary  to  us  both.  It  is  not  a  common  case. 
Edward  will  have  much  to  encounter,  and  I  feel  myself  so  over- 
whelmed when  he  is  miserable,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  comfort 
him.  Pray  think  of  it.  If  it  is  not  right,  I  will  be  contented  ; 
but  I  cannot  resist  proposing  it,  even  if  you  should  be  obliged  to 
say  no." 

The  idea  was  not  new  to  Gertrude's  mind.  She  had  observ- 
ed with  anxiety  Laura's  delicacy  of  constitution  Bince  her  ill- 
ness, and  often  dreaded  the  consequences  of  the  fatigue  and  dis- 
tress of  mind  which  mast  attend  her  journey ;  but  the  duties  of 
her  home  were  primary,  and,  for  a  long  time,  her  decision  wa- 
vered. She  knew  that  she  w.is  useful  to  Laura,  but  Bhe  Mill  felt 
doubtful  as  to  leaving  her  mother  until  aware  of  the  effect  which 
the  intelligence  of  Edward's  circumstances  might  have  upon  her. 
If  Edith  could  go,  instead, — but  no,  Edith  could  never  regain 
her  lost  place  in  Edward's  affection.  He  had  seen  and  ac- 
knowledged to  Gertrude  his  injustice  in  accu  ing  any  but  him  i  II 
of  having  led  Laura  into  error,  and  his  manner  to  Edith  had  lati 
been  peculiarly  kind,  as  if  to  atone  for  the  harsh  words  he  had 
spoken  ;  but  the  love  that  has  once  been  chilled  can  nev<  t  be  re- 
stored to  its  former  warmth.  Ami  Edith  fell  this,  daily  b  id 
hourly.  It  was  the  most  bitter  drop  in  her  cup  of  sorrow,  for  il 
was  the  consequence  of  her  own  actions.      In  the  doubtful  St     • 


308  GERTRUDE. 


of  her  mind  Gertrude  had  recourse  to  Charlotte,  whose  quick  yei 
cool  judgment  she  had  learnt  especially  to  appreciate  since  it  had 
lately  been  called  into  action.  "  What  new  mischief  is  there  I" 
was  the  observation  with  which  her  request  for  a  few  minutes' 
private  conversation  was  received. 

"  Not  mischief  at  all  as  yet,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  want 
your  advice.     Edward  and  Laura  go  next  week." 

"  And  they  wish  you  to  go  with  them  ? — exactly  what  I  said 
they  would.     Edith  and  I  were  talking  of  it  only  last  night." 

"  And  what  did  Edith  say  !" 

"  She  is  in  the  passage.  I  will  make  her  come  and  tell  her- 
self." 

Poor  Edith  looked  so  very  unhappy,  that  Gertrude  did  not 
like  to  drag  her  into  the  conversation,  but  Charlotte  began  with- 
out mercy.  "  Now,  Edith,  give  your  own  opinion.  Is  it  best 
for  Gertrude  to  stay  at  home  with  us,  or  go  abroad  with  Edward 
and  Laura  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  care.  Why  should  you  ask  me  ?"  said 
Edith. 

"  Because  you  are  a  party  concerned.  If  Gertrude  goes,  the 
care  of  mamma  and  Jane  will  fall  on  our  shoulders  :  do  you  feel 
equal  to  bearing  it  ?" 

"  Should  you  very  much  object  ?"  said  Gertrude,  gently. 

Edith  appeared  extremely  distressed. 

"  Well  !"  exclaimed  Charlotte,  "  if  you  will  not  speak,  I  may 
as  well  do  it.  Go,  by  all  means,  Gertrude.  I  shall  hate  it  cor- 
dially, and  be  wretched  till  you  come  back;  but  still,  go.  If  I 
were  you,  I  should  dislike  such  short  notice  ;  but  this  is  not  my 
affair." 

"  My  mother  !"  said  Gertrude.  "  That  weighs  with  me  most. 
I  know  if  we  ask  her  to  consent,  she  will  ;  but  the  whole  thing 
will  be  a  shock  to  her.     I  cannot  think  what  she  will  say." 

"  She  has  a  notion  already,"  said  Charlotte.  "  The  rumor  has 
been  mentioned  by  visiters,  though  she  has  always  contradicted 
it,  and  I  took  an  opportunity,  yesterday,  to  say  that  I  thought  it 
very  probable  Edward  and  Laura  would  spend  the  winter 
abroad,  and  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  said  that  it  would  be 
a  very  good  thing,  and  that  it  might  make  Laura  quite  a  differ- 
ent person." 

"  But  the  circumstances  ?"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Why  say  any  thing  about  them  1  Nothing  will  be  done  with 
Allingham  for  some  time,  and  when  she  has  once  become  accus- 
tomed to  their  absence  she  will  feel  it  much  less.  It  must  be 
broken  to  her  gently,  at  all  events." 

"  But  she  must  hear  of  it  all  soon,"  said  Gertrude. 

Charlotte  looked  annoyed.  "  I  see  how  it  is,  Gertrude,"  shfl 
said  ;  "  you  distrust  us  ;  you  think  we  shall  not  take  care  of  m> 


GERTRUDE.  309 


mother,  but,"  she  added,  more  gravely,  "  I  think  you  might 
give  us  credit  for  having  learned  something  within  the  last 
twelvemonth." 

"  I  was  really  thinking  only  of  myself,"  replied  Gertrude,  "  I 
could  not  agree  to  the  notion  unless  mamma  did  ;  but  even  il 
she  were  to  consent,  I  could  not  go  with  any  comfort  if  I  fancied 
she  had  any  thing  dreadful  hanging  over  her  head,  to  be  told  her 
when  I  was  away." 

"  Then  tell  her  at  once  yourself,"  exclaimed  Charlotte  :  "  you 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  That  -is  the  difficulty  :  perhaps  it  would  be  better ;  but  we 
must  decide  immediately." 

"  Yes,  a  week  is  a  very  little  time  for  you  to  settle  every  thing, 
if  you  are  going.     But  how  will  you  manage]" 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Gertrude,  "  whether  it  would  not  be  the 
best  way  to  say  every  thing  at  once.  I  don't  mean  suddenly  ; 
but  one  trouble  neutralizes  another,  and  the  selling  Allingham 
will  swallow  up  all  minor  evils.  Mamma  will  scarcely  care  for 
my  going  when  she  thinks  of  Edward." 

"  If  it  is  to  be  done,"  said  Charlotte,  "the  sooner  the  better. 
I  should  infinitely  prefer  myself  sitting  down  in  a  dentist's  chair, 
which  I  used  to  think  the  acme  of  human  misery  :  however,  you 
are  a  person  of  courage,  Gertrude." 

"  I  do  not  feel  at  all  courageous,  just  at  this  minute,"  replied 
Gertrude.     "  I  must  consider  about  it  quietly  alone  first." 

She  walked  to  the  door,  and  Edith  followed  her.  "  Did  yon 
think  me  cross  just  now]"  she  said.  "  It  was  very  foolish  and 
wrong,  but  I  think  I  was  jealous.  Five  years  ago,  Edward 
would  not  have  asked  you  to  go  abroad  with  him." 

Gertrude  wished  to  say  that  the  time  might  come  when  he 
would  feel  again  as  he  had  once  done,  but  she  had  little  hopes  of 
it,  and  Edith,  having  made  her  confession,  hurried  away. 

Mrs.  Courtenay  was  in  her  little  room,  as  usual  :  hut  not,  as 
usual,  busied  in  doing  nothing.  She  was  knitting  a  pair  of  wool- 
len socks  for  a  poor  old  woman  in  Elsham,  and  a  nook  lay  open 
beside  her.  "I  was  just  looking  out  the  place  where  we  hit 
off,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "and  thinking  1  would  go  on  by  myself. 
What  kept  you  so  long  J" 

"I  have  been  talking  to  Charlotte  and  Edith,"  replied  Ger- 
trude. 

11  Well  !  but  you  have  been  with  them  ever  since  breakfa  t. 
What  can  you  have  to  say  to  each  other  !" 

"We  were  talking  of  Edward  and  Lau  I  Gertrude.— 

'  You  know  thev  have  some  idi  a  of  going  abroad.  ' 

"  Yea;  Charlotte  told  me  so  ye  terday:  bul  is  it  settled  I— 
how  quick  they  are  in  all  their  plans  !" 

"h   is    Edward's  way,  generally,"  replied   Gertrude ;     and 


310  GERTRUDE. 


now,  I  believe,  he  has  particular  reasons  for  it.  It  is  rathei 
necessary  he  should  make  some  change  ;  he  has  been  at  such 
heavy  expenses." 

"  So  he  has,  poor  fellow  !  As  your  dear  father  used  to  say, 
people  don't  go  into  parliament  for  nothing." 

"  No,  indeed,  they  don't,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  and  Edward  ha° 
been  particularly  pressed  lately." 

"  Has  he,  indeed  ?"  and  Mrs.  Courtenay  looked  up  from  her 
work,  rather  frightened. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  seen  he  was  worried,"  continued  Ger- 
trude ;  "  and  that  has  been  the  cause.'" 

"  Ah  !  very  likely  ;  nothing  is  so  troublesome  as  money  mat- 
ters. When  I  first  married  I  always  had  a  headache  whenever 
I  thought  about  them  ;  and  at  last  your  father  took  them  out  o* 
my  hands  entirely." 

"  If  Edward  goes  abroad,"  said  Gertrude,  "he  will  probably 
stay  some  time." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,  when  he  is  once  there,  he  will  wish  to  see 
every  thing, — all  young  people  do.  But,  my  dear,  I  don't  like 
to  think  about  it.  It  made  me  very  nervous  when  Charlotte  told 
me  yesterday.  Some  one  called  at  the  time,  and  I  thought  it 
was  merely  a  notion  of  hers,  not  of  any  consequence.  He  won't 
be  going  just  yet,  though  ?" 

"  Next  week,  I  rather  think." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  laid  down  her  work.  "Next  week!  Ger- 
trude, my  dear !  you  are  dreaming.  He  can't — it  is  impossible 
■ — he  won't  be  ready." 

"  He  does  not  like  to  delay,"  said  Gertrude,  "  because  ot 
Laura.  Travelling  later  in  the  season  will  be  inconvenient  on 
her  account." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  forgot.  But,  my  dear,  what  will  he  do  with 
Allingham  1  Not  trust  it  with  Mrs.  Dickson,  I  hope  ?  I  don't 
know  why,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  say  a  word  against  her,  but  I 
can't  help  thinking  she  cheats  him." 

"  Allingham  is  a  very  large  place,"  said  Gertrude,  "too  large 
for  a  man  who  wishes  to  economize." 

"  So  it  is,  dreadfully  expensive  !  I  forget  how  many  ser- 
vants the  Colonel  used  to  say  it  required,  but  it  was  an  immense 
number  ;  and  Edward,  poor  fellow  !  is  so  fond  of  having  things 
in  style." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  he  were  to  let  or  sell  it,"  said 
Gertrude,  pronouncing  the  last  word  with  hesitation. 

"  Better !  my  dear,"  repeated  Mrs.  Courtenay,  and'  she 
placed  her  spectacles  on  the  table  in  utter  astonishment  and 
horror.  "  Better  to  let  or  sell  Allingham  !  Why  it  has  been  in 
the  family  for  I  can't  tell  how  many  years.  It  came  to  them  just 
wiien  the  last  wall  of  the  Priory  that  stood  near  here  was  pulled 


GERTRUDE.  oil 


(Idwe.  The  house  then  was  an  old  place,  all  full  of  gables  and 
chimneys;  and  old  Mr.  Courtenay,  Samuel  Courtenay,  that 
was,  your  great  great  grandfather,  had  it  taken  down  and  built 
up  again  as  it  is  now.  I  have  heard  your  father  talk  of  it  a 
hundred  times,  and  he  always  had  a  notion  that  some  day  or 
other  it  would  come  into  his  part  of  the  family.  He  and  the 
Coionel  never  liked  each  other  very  much." 

"  It  would  not  be  desirable,  I  grant,"  said  Gertrude  :  "  but 
if  it  were  right,  dear  mamma,  you  would  be  the  last  person  to 
object." 

"  My  <lear,  you  are  not  serious.  Right !  how  could  it  be 
right]" 

"  It  would  be  better  to  sell  it,"  said  Gertrude,  "  than  to  live  in 
it  and  run  in  debt." 

"  But  who  talks  of  running  in  debt  1  Edward  has  a  very 
handsome  fortune — ten  times  better  than  he  had  any  reason  to 
expect  when  your  father  died." 

"  It  was  not  so  large  as  people  imagined,"  said  Gertrude  ; 
"  and,  at  all  events,  he  has  had  immense  claims  upon  it ;  and  I 
think  if  he  were  to  go  abroad,  he  would  most  likely  decide  upon 
doing  something  with  Alliugham  during  his  absence.  Mr.  Rii 
strongly  advises  it." 

''Mr.  Rivers,  my  dear!  advise!  What  are  you  talking  of? 
Mr.  Rivers  js  no  relation." 

••  No,  but  he  has  the  whole  management  of  the  property,  and 
knows  what  would  be  most  prudent.  And.  dear  mamma,  if  tiny 
lid  go  away,  they  still  would  be  tolerably  near  you,  because  Ed- 
ward would  most  probably  live  in  town.  Hi:  thinks  Bometimes 
of  trying  his  profession  again." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  looked  at  Gertrude,  and  then  rubbed  her 
eyes.  "I  dont  know,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  very  stance  world; 
things  come  so  suddenly,  lias  he  only  thought  of  it  all  since 
yesterday  '?" 

"  Oil,  yes,  be   has  been   planning  it  for  some   time,  but  lie  lias 
only  just  decided  ;  and  what  made   me  think  "t'  talking  to  you 
about  it  this  morning  was,  that  Laura  has  written   me  a  note  i" 
ask  if  I  would  go  abroad  with  them  I'm-  a  twelvemonth  ;  ami,  oi 
course,  I  could  not  consent  unless  you  did." 

This  last  request  was  the  completion  oi'  the  Bhock. 
( lourtenay  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair  am  ith. 

"Abroad!  all  of  you  gone!  to  leave  me!" 

"It  would  not  he  verj  Ion  -."    aid  Gertrude.     "  Time  pa 
bo  quickly,  and   I   think  you  would  he  more  comfortable  about 
Laura  if  1  were  with  her,  and  you  would  hear  much  oflener. 
Edward  is  an  extremely  bad  correspondent-" 

"  Yes,  to  he  sun-.  Laura  looks  very  thin  ;  but,  my  dear,  what 

shall  I  do]      If  you  are  nol  leu-,  who  will  read  t<>  me  '" 


312  GERTRUDE. 

"  Edith  will,  I  am  certain,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  and  one  thing, 
dear  mamma,  their  being  abroad  will  accustom  you  to  their 
absence  ;  you  will  not  care  so  much  for  Edward's  giving  up 
Allingham." 

This  was  the  important  point  which  Gertrude  felt  it  necessary 
to  insist  on,  as  it  was  clear  her  mother  by  no  means  realized  it. 
"  It  will  be  a  very  great  trial  for  us  at  firtit,"  she  cc.  tinued  ; 
"  but  if  he  can  sell  Allingham,  he  will  be  freed  from  all  his  en- 
cumbrances— his  debts,  I  mean  ;  and  he  will  begin  life,  as  it 
were,  afresh  ;  for  he  will  go  to  the  bar,  and  he  is  certain  of  do- 
ing well,  as  far  as  any  man  can  be,  he  is  so  clever." 

A  glimpse  of  the  truth  was  dawning  upon  poor  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay's  mind.  She  obliged  Gertrude  to  repeat  her  words,  and 
questioned  and  wondered,  till  the  facts  were  clearly  brought  to 
view,  and  then  her  burst  of  grief  was  terrible  to  witness.  The 
whole  pride  of  her  heart  was  centred  in  Edward.  From  the 
day  of  his  birth  till  that  hour  she  had  looked  upon  him  as  some- 
thing almost  more  than  mortal,  and  the  idea  of  distress  ever 
reaching  him  in  his  journey  through  life  had  never  yet  entered 
her  mind.  Gertrude  felt  for  her  mother's  sorrow,  the  more  be- 
cause it  was  so  hard  to  comfort.  Her  mind  was  not  equal  to 
listening  to  reason  at  such  a  time.  She  wrung  her  hands  and 
cried — one  moment  entreating  that  they  should  all  give  up  every 
thing — that  they  should  leave  the  Priory,  and  live  upon  nothing, 
rather  than  Edward  should  suffer  ;  and  the  next  declaring  that 
the  report  must  be  untrue — it  was  only  what  ill-natured  people 
thought,  and  she  wondered  Gertrude  could  attend  to  such  non- 
sense. With  unwearied  patience  Gertrude  listened  and  sympa- 
thized, but  she  did  not  attempt  explanations.  She  knew  that  the 
feeling  could  not  be  lasting  from  its  very  violence,  but  she  felt 
thankful  that  the  truth  was  known;  and  when  Mrs.  Courtenay 
at  length  lay  upon  the  sofa,  silent  and  still,  because  her  strength 
was  exhausted,  Gertrude  alluded  to  the  only  point  which  she 
had  not  yet  mentioned,  and  which  she  had  purposely  kept  back, 
in  the  hope  that  it  might  be  some  slight  consolation. 

"  We  will  do  something  for  him,  dear  mamma,"  she  said  ; 
"  he  can  have  aunt  Heathfield's  fortune,  instead  of  me,  and  that 
will  make  him  comfortable  now,  aal  by-and-by  he  may  be  a  rich 
mar  a<;ain." 

"  Ah  !  my  dear,  yes.  Poor  fellow  !  Who  could  think  it  1 
Your  aunt's  fortune  was  little  enough." 

Gertrude  felt  a  pang  of  disappointment,  though  she  re- 
proached herself  for  it.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  praised  for  a 
common  act  of  duty  ;  but  she  forgot  that  no  one  but  Edith,  her- 
self, and  Mr.  Dacre,  understood  the  full  extent  of  the  sacrifice, — 
how  her  bright  day-dreams  had  been  destroyed,  and  how  over- 
powering had  been  the  first  feeling  of  disappointment.     Yet  she 


GERTRUDE.  313 


continued  the  subject  for  nearly  an  hour;  and,  at  the  end  of  that 
lime,  had  in  some  degree  reconciled  her  mother  to  the  arrange- 
ments, and  obtained  permission  to  accompany  Edward  and 
Laura. 

That  day  at  the  Priory  was  more  painful  than  any  which  had 
yet  passed.  Jane,  who  could  no  longer  be  kept  in  ignorance, 
went  to  her  own  room  and  refused  to  see  any  one.  Mrs.  Cour- 
tenay  cried  incessantly  ;  Edith  sat  by,  the  image  of  blank  de- 
spair ;  while  Charlotte  and  Gertrude  discussed  the  proposed 
journey  and  the  preparations  required.  The  tone  of  the  conver- 
sation was  not  agreeable  to  Gertrude's  feelings.  Charlotte  was 
extremely  useful,  sensible,  and  practical  ;  she  thought  of  every 
thing,  obviated  every  difficulty,  suggested  plans,  which  none  but 
her  own  peculiarly  clear  head  could  have  devised  ;  even  insisted 
upon  making  considerable  sacrifices  for  her  sister's  comfort ;  but 
it  was  all  done  cheerfully,  and  poor  Gertrude  was  wretched. 
The  idea  of  going  abroad,  which  at  another  time  would  have 
been  a  delight,  was  now  full  of  gloom.  She  fancied  herself  in  a 
foreign  country,  amongst  people  who  could  neither  understand 
nor  sympathize  with  her, — Edward  miserable,  Laura  ill.  She 
thought  of  her  mother's  distress  at  home,  and  Edith's  loneliness, 
and  the  desertion  of  Allingham,  and  the  trial  it  would  be  to  them 
to  see  it  inhabited  by  another  family.  It  seemed  equallv  hard 
either  to  go  or  to  stay.  And  then  came  other  thoughts,  of  the 
church  and  Mr.  Dacre.  She  had  schooled  herself  into  submis- 
sion, but  the  vision  had  never  ceased  to  haunt  her.  Even  in  the 
midst  of  all  her  late  anxiety,  it  had  been  with  her — in  fancy  and 
in  dreams;  and  before  she  returned  it  would  in  all  probability  be 
reality.  Some  necessary  steps  had  already  been  taken,  and  now 
that  the  Allingham  property  was  to  be  sold,  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  in  determining  the  site.  It  was  a  painful  interesl  \\  Inch 
Gertrude  felt  whenever  Mr.  Dacre  bad  lately  alluded  to  the  sub- 

I'ect.  She  longed  to  hear  every  thing,  and  vet  when  she  bad 
leard,  she  almost  wished  that  it  had  never  been  introduced.  From 
any  other  person  it  would  have  been  overpowering,  but  .Mr.  lu- 
cre's perfect  consideration  ami  gentleness  softened  the  trial ;  and 
even  when  suffering  most,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  never  I"  I 
sufficiently  estimated   his  character.     And   of  him,   when    thej 

were  soon  to  part  for  many  months,  Gertrude  tl ghl  most  anx 

iously  He  had  been  a  friend  when  friendship  was  above  all 
things  needed,  and  he  bad  understood  and  sympathized  with  feel 
in^'.s  so  sacred  and  private,  that  she  could  nol  have  mentioned 
them  in  words.  When  she  returned  to  England,  would  he  be 
waiting  to  welcome  her,  or  was  it  more  than  probable  thai  before 
a  year  had  gone  by,  his  troubled  life  would  be  ovei  '  Thai  his 
h"alth  was  sinking  there  could  be  mi  doubt  ;  it  was  the  :"  oei  il 
remark,  and  he  himself  frequently  spoke  of  it.  bul  the  knowledge 
1  I 


: .  i 

had  never  pressed  so  heavily  upon  her  before  |  Bad  when  E 
tnentioued  it  as  they  sat  toger  .  r  the  remainder 

<     :    _-  :■ >j,  Gertrude  toned  from  the  idea  uith  a 

hasty  assent,  and  began  talking  of  other  things. 


a AFTER    XL VI. 

.     -  -.'•:><:  r.o  rrcTithof  wind 

stirred  the  lea  res;   thes     _    :  was  81  ,  the  hum  of 

the  insects  had  nearly  ceased.     A  few  bright,  flaky  ekttds 
gathering  around  the  setting  sun,  which  as  it  slowly  sank  to  us 
repose  lit  up  the  western  horizon  with  a  broad,  golden  belt,  melt- 
ing through  scarcely  perceptible  shades  from  brilliant  on:  t 
a  dim,  shadowy  green,  and  rising  again  from  the  most  deli 
axure  to  the  deep  purple  of  the  overhanging  sky.     It  was  an 
hour  for  sweet  yet  solemn  thoughts,  for  chastened  mem 
earth  and  tranquil  hopes  of  heaven,  a  time  when  holy  indue: 
seem  hovering  near,  hushing  to  rest  the  cares  of  the  busy  world, 
and  shedding  a  secret  charm  over  the  homes  of  earth,  unfeh  and 
uQlhought  of  io  the  daxzling  lustra  And!      raid  and 

I -aura  stood  together  lor  the  last  time  beneath  the  colonnac . 
Allingbam.     The  parting  words  had  been  said,  the  las  ells 

taken.  It  was  their  own  request  that  their  few  remaining  hours 
should  be  alone.  And  who  could  venture  to  intrude  upon  such 
sorrow  !     Who  that  has  felt  the  bitterness  of  parti ag  its, 

even  with  the  prospect  of  return,  from  scenes  endeared  :\    iss 
cialions  with  all  that  life  holds  most  precious,  could  dis- 

turb the  grief  which  must  fill  the  heart,  when  the  parting  is  brought 
upon  us  by  our  own  folly,  not  for  years,  I  i  r  !     And  it 

seems  vain  at  such  a  tin  j  that  happir.  ess  be  found  in 

any  place.     Perhaps  it  may,  and  so  may  kind  words  and  vo. 

adection ;  but  do  we  the:  ss  re- 

linquish all  which  we  have  hitherto  prized  !     And  the  beauty 
nature  and  the  scenes  of  home  are  not  senseless  and  inanin. 
There  is  a  spirit  enshrined  in  each  object  on  which  our  eyes  have 
long  been  accustomed  to  dwell,  for  we  have  hung  upon  it  hopes 
an*:  :    i     .  I  noughts  of  love,  and  dreams  of  enjoyment ;  and  when 

like  die  ghosts  of  by-gone  mock  us  with  the  remem- 

brance of  pleasures  which  r.  tin  be  ours. 


GERTRUDE.  315 


It  was  not  a  moment  for  words  ;  deep  feeling  is,  and  must 
be,  silent ;  but  Laura  clung  to  her  husband's  arm  as  she  tear- 
fully gazed  on  the  gorgeous  sky  ;  and  when  a  sigh  escaped  him 
in  the  anguish  of  his  soul,  she  turned  to  him  with  the  same  smile 
which  had  once  possessed  such  power  to  lead  him  from  the  right 
path,  and  whispered,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his,  "  Mine  still 
forever.*  Edward  dared  not  speak,  but  he  threw  his  arm 
round  her,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  then  lowly  and  sor- 
rowfully they  went  forth  together.  Through  the  walks,  and 
shrubberies,  and  terraces — by  the  green  lawns,  and  the  radiant 
flowers,  which  shone  mistily  in  the  evening  light — not  one  spot 
was  left  unvisited,  though  Laura's  weary  step  told  that  her 
strength  was  nearly  gone,  and  Edward,  in  anxious  apprehen- 
sion, urged  her  to  return.  The  task  was  at  length  over.  Laura 
aijain  stood  under  the  colonnade,  and  cast  a  lingering  look  upon 
the  garden. 

The  sun  had  sunk,  and  by  the  pale  streak  of  light  which 
marked  where  his  path  had  been,  the  evening  star  now  glittered 
in  solitary  beauty.  Edward  raised  his  hand  and  pointed  to  it. 
'•  Will  it  be  as  lovely  in  a  foreign  land  ?"  he  said. 

"  Not  to  our  eyes,"  replied  Laura  ;  "  but  shall  we  murmur, 
Edward  ?     Is  there  not  much  left  us  I" 

Edward  thought  for  a  few  moments.  "  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  this 
same  hour  might  have  come,  and  I  might  have  been  alone." 

'•And  Charlie,"  said  Laura,  '"and  Gertrude,  and  the  con- 
sciousness that  no  one  will  have  Buffered  but  ourselves  ;  that  no 
slur  can  be  cast  upon  our  name.  We  have  much  to  be  thankful 
for." 

"  Much,  every  thing,  while  you  are  spared,"  he  exclaimed 
earnestly. 

"Ana  our  child,"  said  Laura;  "will  you  not  come  and  look 
at  him?" 

Edward  hesitated.  "Go  alone,"  he  said.  "Why  should  I 
be  reminded  that  I  have  injured  him  V 

The  tone  was  so  wretched  that  Laura  could  not  preaa  him. 
She  entered  the  house,  but  Edward  immediately  followed  her. 
The  hall  presented  a  drearv  contrast  to  the  beauty  without.  It 
was  filled  with  boxes  and  trunks,  and  the  few  servants  who  had 
not  been  dismissed  were  collecting  the  remaining  articles  for 
the  travelling  b:i_r^.  and  discussing  in  an  under-tone  the  reasons 
fur  their  master's  movements.  Luna  passed  up  tie-  Bplendid 
staircase,  and  through  the  long  gallery,  hung  with  family  por« 
traits,  till  she  reached  her  own  luxurious  apartment.     The  fur- 

nitiire  had   been  chosen  t'>  suit  her  particular  taste,  and    involun- 
tarily she  stopped  and   looked  wistfully  at  th(  and  chairs, 
lie   glasses  and   couches,  with    which   it   was  adorned.      It  a    . 


316  GERTRUDE. 


not  a  sigh  of  regret,  but  of  affection,  which  escaped   her  ;  but 
Edward  heard  it,  and  it  cut  him  to  the  heart. 

"  You  will  come,"  said  Laura,  opening  a  door  which  led  into 
her  little  boy's  sleeping-room. 

And  Edward  went.  Laura  bent  over  the  bed,  and  in  the 
delight  of  a  mother's  heart,  forgot,  as  she  gazed  upon  her  child's 
fair  forehead,  and  long  dark  eyelashes,  and  rounded  cheek, 
flushed  with  the  rosy  tint  of  health,  that  life  could  have  any 
trials  whilst  he  was  with  her:  but  to  Edward's  mind  they  were 
more  vividly  present  at  that  instant  than  they  had  ever  been 
before.  He  stood  apart,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  and  his 
features  rigid  with  the  effort  to  control  his  feelings  :  but  when 
Charlie  moved  in  his  sleep,  and  softly  murmured  his  name,  his 
stern  self-command  gave  way,  and  for  the  first  time,  unmindful 
of  Laura's  presence,  his  grief  burst  forth  without  restraint. 

Who  may  tell  the  wretchedness  of  the  remainder  of  that 
dreary  evening]  The  comfortless  tea  taken  in  Laura's 
room,  because  she  was  too  tired,  and  too  sick  at  heart,  to  go 
down  stairs.  The  pain  with  which  Edward  looked  at  the 
smallest  article  with  which  he  was  to  part.  The  trial  of  search- 
ing over  Laura's  own  books  to  see  which  it  was  best  to  keep, 
and  then  the  last  walk  through  the  long,  dark  rooms,  partly 
from  a  wish  to  see  them  once  more,  and  partly  with  the  view 
of  deciding  whether  it  would  be  desirable  to  give  up  two  or 
three  favorite  pieces  of  furniture.  It  was  one  of  protracted 
suffering,  yet  neither  of  them  could  forego  it.  The  drawing- 
room  was  the  last  place  they  visited.  It  had  not  been  used 
since  the  night  of  the  dance,  and  Laura  shuddered  as  she  recol- 
lected the  splendid  misery  of  the  archery  party.  Every  thing 
) )  it  was  to  be  sold  ;  Laura's  inlaid  work-table,  (Edward's  pre- 
"ent  on  her  last  birth-day,)  her  chess-table,  and  flower-stand, 
tnd  mosaic  cabinet;  even  the  enamel  miniatures,  and  collection 
of  drawings  by  modern  artists.  It  was  her  own  special  request. 
Since  a  sacrifice  was  necessary,  sV>  desired  it  might  be  com- 
plete. Gertrude  indeed  had  vigi.d  that  her  mother  was  anx- 
ous  to  spare  the  several  articles  ■which  were  specially  valued, 
out  Laura  was  resolved.  They  were  luxuries,  she  said,  and 
rom  henceforth  her  duty  was  to  live  without  them.  Yet  she 
'•.ould  not  resist  going  round  to  each,  and  turning  over  the  draw- 
ings, and  opening  the  drawers  of  the  cabinet ;  and  Edward 
Tioved  mechanically  wherever  she  did.  "This  rubbish  had 
better  be  thrown  away,"  she  said,  as  she  took  out  some  old  pa- 
pers. "  Let  us  just  look  through  the  cabinet.  We  should  be 
;orry  to  leave  things  which  people  may  remark  upon." 

"  They  must  have  been  here  an  immense  time,"  observed 
I'-dward,  unfolding  a  roll.     It  was  the  plan  for  the  church.     He 


GERTRUDE. 


317 


had  never  seen  it  since  the  night  preceding  the  nomination-da) 
of  his  election.  Laura  looked  at  it  now  attentively,  with  far  dif- 
ferent feelings  from  those  which  she  then  had. 

"  The  mistake  was  great,"  said  Edward,  answering  what  he 
felt  must  be  her  thoughts.  "  If  this  had  been  my  object,  how 
different  things  would  have  been  !" 

"  You  did  what  you  imagined  your  duty,"  said  Laura. 

"  No,"  he  exclaimed,  firmly,  though  sadly ;  "  I  made  my  duty 
suit  my  will,  not  my  will  my  duty." 

"  But  how  could  you  have  known  what  was  your  duty  ?" 

"  External  circumstances — property — my  own  doubts — the 
opinion  of*  a  man  like  Mr.  Dacre  :  but  repentance  has  come  toe 
late."  And  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  he  cast  the  paper  aside,  and 
leaning  his  head  upon  the  cabinet,  remained  buried  in  thought. 

With  that  one  sin  came  the  remembrance  of  many  others.  The 
doubtful  acts  which,  though  not  encouraged,  had  been  allowed  in 
order  to  secure  his  election ;  the  weakness  and  irresolution 
which  had  induced  him  so  frequently  to  act  against  his  con- 
science, in  compliance  with  his  wife's  wishes,  and  which  had 
been  the  cause  of  Miss  Forester's  influence  ;  and  an  offence,  lit- 
tle thought  of  at  the  time,  and  long  since  forgotten,  but  which 
now,  by  some  mysterious  power,  returned  upon  him  in  all  its 
reality — the  selfishness  which  had  urged  him  to  meditate  an  act 
of  cruelty,  only  not  carried  into  effect,  because  the  hand  of  death 
anticipated  his  purpose.  Was  it  superstition  which  made  him 
read  in  the  trial  of  that  hour,  when  lie  was  bidding  farewell  to 
his  home,  something  of  retribution  for  the  hardness  of  heart 
which  would  have  inflicted  a  similar  suffering  on  a  fellow-crea- 
ture!  They  were  bitter  thoughts;  and  if  Laura  could  have 
known  the  secrets  of  his  soul,  she  might  have  heard  his  earnest 
confession  in  the  words  of  one  who  also  had  wandered  far  astray  : 
"  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and  before  Thee,  and  am 
no  more  worthy  to  be  called  Thy  son." 

"  There  is  no  use   in  staying  here  longer,"  he  said,  at  length 
"  My  sisters  will  take  care  that  nothing  is  hit  which  ought  not  to 
he.     I  have  spoken  to  them  about  it — and  it  is  late.     Remember, 
we  must  set  off  early  to-morrow." 

Laura  still  lingered;  past  hours  of  happiness  crowded  upon 
her  memory,  and  her  heart  was  full  ;  but  she  looked  a!  her  bus- 
kind,  and  recovering  herself  in  an  instant,  .--lie     lid,  quietly,  "  I 

think  we  have    done   all    that  w:  a.-y  ;"  and    led   the    way 

from  the  room.  The,  timepiece  in  the  hall  was  strikin  -  ten,  and 
Edward  insisted  upon  going  immediately  to  bed.     He  reared  the 

fatigue  of  the  next  day,  and  he  tl pht  she  might  be  able  to 

sleep;  but  for  himself  he  knew  it  would  be  van.  to  expect  it  . 
and  many  times  m  the  course  of  the  long  night,  u  Laura  awoke 
from  her  broken   slumbers,  she  heard  him  pacing  the  adjoining 


31 S  GERTRUDE. 


room,  and  groaning  in  the  anguish  of  a  repentant  spirit,  over  the 
desolation  which  his  own  sins  had  caused. 

And  or.  that  evening  there  were  other  farewell  looks  and 
parting  thoughts,  arising  from  the  same  circumstances,  but 
mixed  with  better,  happier  feelings.  Gertrude  walked  with 
Edith  and  Mr.  Dacie  on  the  Priory  terrace,  and  watched  the 
golden  sunset,  and  welcomed  the  pale  evening  star,  and  knew 
that  the  morrow  would  see  her  far  away  from  the  scenes  and  the 
friends  she  loved  so  well  ;  but  her  heart  was  thankful  and  at 
peace.  She  had  endeavored  to  conquer  the  vain  regrets  for 
Edward's  suffering,  from  the  hope  that  it  might  be  the  begin- 
ning of  a  new  and  holier  life  ;  and  she  could  look  back  on  the 
events  of  the  last  few  months  with  the  consciousness  that,  with 
all  her  faults,  she  had  acted  with  a  single  heart.  Purity  of 
intention  is  the  great  secret  of  peace  ;  and  after  a  long  conver- 
sation with  Edith,  in  which  she  received  a  strict  promise  that  all 
other  ordinary  duties  should  give  way  to  the  paramount  obliga- 
tion— her  mother's  comfort — Gertrude  enjoypd  with  melancholy 
pleasure  her  last  conversation  with  Mr.  Dacre.  She  spoke  to 
him  of  the  church,  of  her  weakness,  her  disappointment,  the  dif- 
ficulty of  submission  :  and,  if  he  had  allowed  it,  she  would  again 
have  begtred  his  forgiveness  for  her  hasty  unkindness  And 
then  she  entreated  that  he  would  himself  write  to  her  a  detailed 
account  of  the  plans  for  the  building  and  the  progress  made. 
Mr.  Dacre  listened  with  the  deepest  interest,  and  entered  into 
all  her  feelings  ;  but  when  she  alluded  to  the  future,  his  manner 
changed.  "  He  would  write,"  he  said,  "  while  he  was  able  ; 
but  a  year  was  a  long  time  even  for  the  strongest  to  calculate 
upon." 

Gertrude  understood  him,  and  a  choking  sensation  arose  in  her 
throat. 

"  You  will  be  in  my  thoughts,"  he  said — "  all  of  you, — every 
day.  My  prayers  may  comfort  you,  when  my  fingers  are  power- 
less." 

Gertrude  felt  a  gratitude  which  she  could  not  speak.  She  had 
often  longed  to  ask  him  to  remember  her  thus.  "  I  little  imag- 
ined," she  said,  "that  my  first  visit  to  the  Continent  would  have 
been  so  unjoyous.  It  was  one  of  my  childish  dreams  of  perfect 
happiness." 

"  And  it  is  in  this  way  that  the  greater  number  of  our  early 
wishes  are  granted,"  replied  Mr.  Dacre,  "  and  at  length  we  learn 
the  meaning  of  our  disappointments;  we  fear  to  wish  at  all.  So, 
\t  least,  I  think  you  will  feel,  if  you  ever  reach  my  age.' 

"  I  have  begun  to  feel  it  now,"  said  Gertrude.  "  At  this  mo- 
nent  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  any  great  wish." 

"  Not  for  Edward  ?"  inquired  Edith. 

"  No,  not  even  for  him,  beyond  the  desire  that  he  may  act 


GERTRUDE.  319 


rightly.  Which  of  us  would  venture  to  restore  Allingham  t<" 
him  if  the  means  were  in  our  power  {" 

"  My  mother  would,"  said  Edith. 

'Poor  mamma!"'  exclaimed  Gertrude.  "It  is  a  worse  tiiaJ 
for  her  than  for  any  of  us ;  but  she  will  be  better  when  to-mor- 
row is  over." 

"  She  was  sadly  upset  this  afternoon  when  Edward  and  Lau- 
ra came  over  to  see  her,"  said  Edith.  "  I  think  she  fancied  it 
was  the  last  visit,  from  their  manner,  though  they  did  not  exactly 
Bay  it." 

"  It  will  have  been  the  last,"  said  Gertrude.  "  The  carriage 
is  to  come  for  me  first  to-morrow  morning.  We  agreed  about 
it  before  they  went  away." 

"  Then  I  shall  not  see  you  again  V  said  Mr.  Dacre,  in  a 
peculiarly  suppressed  voice,  as  he  directed  his  steps  towards  the 
entrance  gate. 

"  We  start  early,"  replied  Gertrude  ;  "  but  is  it  impossible  V 

"It  could  do  no  good,"  he  said,  "  and  you  will  have  enough 
farewells  without  my  adding  to  the  number." 

Gertrude  felt  he  was  right,  but  she  could  not  force  herself  to 
acknowledge  it.  They  reached  the  gate  in  silence.  "  You  will 
think  of  me  in  my  long,  weary  journey  J"  said  Gertrude,  as  Mr. 
Dacre  lingered,  unwilling  to  open  it. 

"And  you  of  me  in  mine,  if  such  should  be  the  will  of  God  ? 
It  may  be  a' long,  but  not,  I  trust,  a  weary  one." 

"Why — why  should  you  say  it!"  exclaimed  Gertrude;  and 
her  cheek  was  pale,  and  her  lip  quivered.  "  1  told  you  1  had  no 
great  wish  ;   but  I  have  one. — that  we  may  meet  again." 

"And  it  will  be  granted,"  lie  said,  solemnly]  "though  many 
years  may  pass  first." 

Gertrude's  tears  came  in  spite  of  her  utmost  efforts.  "  It 
may  be  on  earth,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  ami  if  not ."     lie  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to 

his  lips.     "  May  God's  blessing  be  with  you  through  life !" 

Gertrude  would  have  spoken,  but  he  had  turned  away.     For 

a  few  minutes  he  pursued  his  path  rapidly,  hut  then  Ins  Strength 
flagged  ;  and  when  she  looked  at  his  tall,  attenuated  figure,  and 
feeble  steps,  Gertrude  felt  as  if  the  decree  had  already  gout 

forth  that  she  should  see  him  on  earth  no  more 


320  GERTRUDE. 


CHAfTER   XLV1I. 

All  who  have  experienced  the  oppression  of  that  momen 
when  we  first  awake  to  consciousness  upon  a  day  of  heavy  trial 
will  understand  the  weight  upon  Edward's  heart  when  the  light 
broke  into  his  chamber,  and  roused  him  from  the  deep  slumber 
which  had  followed  his  long  hours  of  watchfulness.  It  was  a 
glorious  morning.  The  sun  shone  brilliantly  in  the  unclouded 
sky,  and  the  freshness  of  the  early  dew  was  lying  on  the  smooth 
turf;  insects  were  humming  on  the  window,  and  straggling  sun- 
beams dancing  on  the  many-colored  carpet  and  damask  furni- 
ture. The  luxury  and  beauty  of  his  home  struck  Edward  with 
the  vividness  of  a  scene  which  is  gazed  on  for  the  first  time.  He 
thought  that  he  was  leaving  happiness  forever.  Other  scenes 
might  be  as  fair, — other  spots  as  fitted  for  enjoyment ;  but,  even 
were  they  his,  where  would  be  the  associations  which  had  made 
Allingham  so  dear]  and  when  would  the  buoyancy  of  spirit  be 
restored  to  him  which  had  enabled  him  to  enjoy  them  ?  The 
answer  came  from  the  depth  of  his  heart — "  Never  !"  And  Ger- 
trude awoke  yet  earlier,  with  the  knowledge  that  much  was  still 
left  her  to  think  of.  Her  last  evening  had  been  occupied  with 
her  mother,  whose  anxiety  for  Edward  had  increased  daily  as 
the  time  drew  near  for  his  journey.  Understanding  little  or 
nothing  of  business,  she  could  not  persuade  herself  that  his 
ruin  was  complete,  and  harassed  herself  with  the  idea  that  it 
would  still  be  possible,  by  some  great  personal  sacrifice,  to  save 
him.  Edward,  when  the  notion  had  first  been  hinted  to  him,  re- 
jected it  without  a  moment's  hesitation  ;  but  Mrs.  Courtenay 
would  not  be  convinced,  and  with  all  a  parent's  partiality  for  an 
only  son,  she  would  have  given  up  all  herself,  and  overlooked 
the  privations  entailed  upon  every  other  member  of  her  family, 
to  save  him  from  suffering.  Gertrude's  sacrifice  she  scarcely 
considered.  Nothing  indeed  would  have  satisfied  her  but  the 
complete,  restoration  of  his  fortune,  and  it  was  not  until  Geitrude 
had  reasoned,  and  entreated,  and  repeated  the  same  arguments 
again  and  again,  that  she  had  been  persuaded,  late  on  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  to  give  up  the  idea  of  their  all  leaving  the 
Priory,  and  agreed  only  to  make  such  alteration  in  their  style 
rf  living   as   would   enable   him   to   live   with    greater  comfort 


GERTRUDE.  32) 


abroad,  and  to  begin  his  profession  upon  a  competency,  when  thy 
year  of  exile  was  expired.  And  even  this  Gertrude  knew  musl 
not  be  hinted  to  her  brother.  Whatever  was  to  be  done  must 
pass  through  her  hands,  and  this  formed  an  additional  reason  foi 
being  contented  to  go  with  him.  There  were  so  inanv  ways  in 
which  he  might  be  assisted  without  his  delicacy  being  wounded, 
which  no  one  but  a  member  of  his  own  family  could  discover.  Mrs. 
Courtenay  was,  however,  at  length  convinced,  apparently,  if  not 
really,  and  Gertrude  was  relieved  at  finding  that  her  mother's 
tears  ceased,  and  that  she  became  more  tranquil.  She  bade 
her  good-night,  with  the  earnest  request  that  she  would  not 
think  of  rising  early  the  next  day.  It  would  only  make  her  ill, 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  uncomfortable,  and  she  promised  to  ^ro 
to  her  room  the  last  thing.  Mrs.  Courtenay  assented,  but  the 
next  morning,  before  Gertrude  was  dressed,  she  heard  her 
mother's  voice,  inquiring  whether  the  coffee  was  ready,  and 
sending  the  footman  to  the  lodge,  to  look  down  the  road,  and 
see  whether  the  carriage  was  coming.  Gertrude  left  the  con- 
clusion of  her  packing  to  Charlotte,  and  went  down  stairs.  Jane 
and  Edith  were  writing  directions,  and  Mrs.  Courtenay,  whose 
sorrow  and  nervousness  were  conquered  for  the  moment  by  tin- 
interest  of  providing  for  her  daughter's  comfort,  was  cutting 
some  meat  at  a  side-table.  "  1  thought  you  would  never  conn', 
my  dear,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "your  coffee  is  quite  cold,  and  you 
will  have  no  time  to  eat." 

"  I  want  very  little,  thank  you,"  said  Gertrude.  "I  am  not  at 
all  hungry." 

"Oh!  but  my  love,  just  consider,  you  are  going  such  a  long 
journey;  you   will    make   me   very  unhappy  if  you   don't:   and  1 

ordered  the  chicken  to  bo  dressed  expressly,  lor  I  tl ght   poor 

Edward  and  Laura  might  come  without  any  breakfast,  and  then 
perhaps  they  would  finish  hen 

"I  scarcely  think  they  will  be   ready  in  time,''  said   Gertrnde, 
"  and  they  wish  me  to  go  to  them.      Perhaps  it  will  he  tin 
arrangement.'' 

The  knife  and  fork  dropped  from  Mrs.  Courtenay's  hand-,  and 
all  the  grief  which  hail  been  for  the  time  suppressed  burst  forth 
again.  Lamentations,  sighs,  tears ;  hut  in  the  midst  of  all  she 
fctdl  insisted  upon  Gertrude's  eating. 

"Don't  attempt  it,"  whispered  Jane ;   but  Gertrude  saw  hei 

mother's  eves  fixed  upon  her,  and  forced  In  r  elf  10  do  tin'  only 
thing  which  she  knew  would  satisfy  her. 

"  You  will  write  to  me  ["  said  Edith  in  an  under- ton  "  All 
my  comfort  will  go  with  jrou." 

"Not  all,  dearest;  and  1  am  sure  JTOO  mas  make  things 
Dclter." 

"I  will  try  ;  hot  1  don't  jrou  do." 


322  GERTRUDE. 


"  Attention,"  said  Gertrude, — "  attention  to  other  persona 
ways  and  habits.     I  think  thai  is  the  secret." 

Edith  looked  very  desponding.  At  that  instant  Charlotte  en- 
tered. "  Done  at  last,"  she  exclaimed,  holding  up  the  keys.  "  1 
would  not  have  taken  the  trouble  for  any  other  human  being." 

"  Just  in  time,"  said  Jane  :  "  I  hear  the  carriage." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  went  into  the  hall  with  the  faint  hope  of  seeing 
Edward. 

"  We  shall   hear  from   Boulogne  ?"    said   Jane.     "  Gertrude 

promised   that   she  would  not  delay  a  single  hour  if  she  could 

possibly  avoid  it.     They  should  have  a  detailed  account  of  every 

thing."     And  anxious  to  shorten  the  parting,  she  hurried  out  of 

he  room,  followed  by  her  sisters. 

"  This  time  twelvemonth,  dear  mamma,"  said  Gertrude,  as  she 
threw  her  arm  round  her  mother's  neck, — "we  must  look  forward 
to  that." 

Mrs.  Courtenay  seated  herself  in  a  chair,  and  cried  bitterly ; 
and  Gertrude  felt  inclined  to  repent  her  decision.  The  servants 
crowded  into  the  hall ;  she  could  scarcely  speak  to  say  good-by 
to  them,  and  almost  wondered  at  herself  for  feeling  so  much. 
"  My  mother  !"  was  her  last  word  to  Edith  as  she  held  her  hand. 

"  You  may  depend  on  us  both,"  said  Charlotte. 

Gertrude  stood  up  in  the  carriage  till  it  had  turned  the  corner 
of  the  road,  and  then  gave  up  her  mind  to  Allingham. 

And  much  indeed  there  was  to  prepare  for;  but  the  drive 
was  short,  and  before  she  had  summoned  up  all  the  thoughts 
which  she  trusted  might  support  herself  and  others  in  the  com- 
ing trial,  the  carriage  stopped.  Edward  and  Laura  were  wait- 
ing her  arrival  in  the  hall  ;  and  little  Charlie,  standing  by  his 
nurse,  was  expressing  in  broken  accents  his  wonder  and  delight 
at  the  novelty  of  the  scene.  Edward  leant  against  a  marble 
pillar,  with  a  countenance  which  told  but  too  plainly  the  tale  of 
his  broken  rest  and  his  morning's  agony  of  mind.  He  looked 
at  all  that  was  passing,  but  he  gave  no  orders  ;  even  then  he 
felt  himself  a  stranger  in  his  own  halls.  And  Laura  was  at  his 
side,  silent  and  trembling  ;  only  occasionally  she  stroked  her 
child's  glossy  hair,  or  in  a  faint  voice  inquired  if  every  direction 
had  been  attended  to.  There  were  few  servants  present,  and  of 
those  few,  none  who  had  any  peculiar  interest  in  their  master. 
All  whom  he  had  most  valued  he  had  provided  with  other  situa- 
tions before  parting  with  them.  The  housekeeper  had  taken 
upon  herself  the  whole  authority,  and  moved  and  spoke  with  an 
air  and  tone  which,  a  few  months  before,  would  have  ensured 
her  immediate  dismissal.  Edward  was  not  insensible,  though 
he  appeared  so.  He  heard  every  word,  and  saw  every  action, 
and  each  symptom  of  indifference  or  inattention  was  felt  with 
the  keenness  of  a  broken  spirit.     Gertrude  greeted  him  briefly. 


GERTRUDE.  F23 


She  expressed  no  fear  lest  he  had  been  kept  waiting,  but  assisted 
in  collecting  the  few  things  that  were  not  already  packed,  and 
then  going  up  to  her  brother,  she  said,  "  The  carriage  is  ready." 
Edward  sprang  forward,  as  if  he  dared  not  think.  With  perfect 
calmness  he  assisted  Laura  to  put  on  her  cloak,  and  tied  his 
child's  hat,  and  walked  round  t he  hull  to  see  that  nothing  was  left 
behind,  and  then,  placing  Gertrude  and  Laura  in  the  carriage,  he 
seated  himself  with  Charlie  by  his  side,  and  drawing  his  travel- 
ling rap  over  his  forehead,  closed  his  eyes.  Gertrude  held  her 
Bister's  trembling  hand.  Laura  sat  upright,  and  her  breath  was 
quick  arid  faint.  It  seemed  as  if  her  earnest  gaze  was  seeking 
to  retain  the  impression  of  every  tree  and  fence, — every  winding 
of  the  road  ;  and  onward  the  carriage  rolled,  rapidly  and  easily, 
each  turning  of  the  wheel  robbing  them  of  some  spot  endeared  by 
memory  and  affection.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  minutes. 
They  reached  the  park  gate.  The  lodge-keeper,  an  old  gray- 
headed  servant  of  the  family,  came  forward  to  express  his  wishes 
for  his  master's  prosperous  journey.  Edward  raised  his  head, 
and  tried  to  thank  him,  but  the  tone  was  strained  and  unnatural  ; 
and  Laura  bowed  her  gratitude, — she  could  do  no  more.  And 
the  greeting  was  over.  Edward,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  called  to  the 
postillion  to  proceed,  and  then  once  more  the  carriage  rolled  on 
and  Allingham  was  left  forever. 


C  11  A  PTER    X  LVIII. 

About  halfway  up  the"  ascenl  if  a  wide  heath-covered  hill, 
distant  nearly  two"  miles  iVoin  the  village  of  Elsham,  stands  i 
small  church  of  modern  date,  in  the  d rated  Btyle  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  The  beauty  of  the  situation,  commandii 
extensive  view  over  the  valley  of  Elsham,  backed  by  the  Ailing- 
ham  woods,  might  alone  excite  admiration  ;  bul  a  more  ran-,  and 
perhaps  more  interesting  Bubjecl  lor  observation,  i  to  be  found 
in  the  building  itself.  The  deep  porch,  with  its  massive  dooi 
and  ornamental  hinges,  the  flowing  tracery  of  the  window*,  the 
rich  mouldings,  the  buttre  irmounted  by  carved  pint 
the  trefoil  parapet,  the  spire  rising  from  a  tower  ol  exquisite 
proportions,  all  tell  that  the  hand  of  taete  aa  w<  H  ai  ol  piety 
has  been  raised  in  erecting  a  fitting  temple  lor  the  worship  ol 
God.  And  to  those  who  h  ized  on  ii  with  pleasure,  11  may 
perhaps  add   something  of  a  dei  to  km  w,  thai   M 


321  GERTRUDE. 


who  dedicated  no  small  portion  of  his  worldly  substance  to  be  thus 
employed  for  his  Maker's  honor,  was  summoned  to  his  great  re 
ward  before  he  had  been  permitted  to  witness  the  full  completion 
of  his  work. 

About  three  weeks  pievious  to  the  day  fixed  for  the  conse- 
cration of  Torrington  Church,  Mr.  Dacre  breathed  his  last,  after 
an  illness  of  a  few  hours;  his  final  request  being  lhat  no  altera- 
tions might  take  place  in  the  arrangements  which  he  had  made. 
He  had  no  regrets,  no  longings ;  the  praise  of  man  could  be 
nothing  to  him.  who  for  so  many  years  had  sought  only  the 
favor  of  God.  Some  thoughts,  indeed,  there  were  of  one,  who 
in  the  course  of  a  few  days  was  about  to  return  to  her  home, 
and  whose  voice  it  would  have  soothed  him  once  more  to  hear; 
'jt  they  were  thoughts  of  comfort  and  peace,  for  Gertrude's  fre- 
auent  letters  from  abroad  had  relieved  him  from  many  sources 
of  anxiety.  She  had  told  him  of  Edward's  increasing  stability 
of  character,  of  Laura's  improving  health,  and  her  own  perfect 
satisfaction  in  all  that  had  been  done.  She  was  not,  she  said, 
resigned  merely,  but  grateful.  Edward's  peace  of  mind  had 
been  lightly  purchased  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  inclinations, 
and  all  that  she  desired  was  to  know  that  the  task  which  had 
fallen  into  Mr.  Dacre's  hands  had  been  fulfilled  according  to  his 
wishes.  To  have  received  the  assurance  from  her  own  lips 
would,  indeed,  have  been  a  blessing;  but  Mr.  Dacre  had  learnt 
most  perfectly  the  lesson  of  submission,  and  when  he  was  told 
that  a  few  hours  must,  in  all  human  probability,  terminate  his 
existence,  he  turned  from  the  prospect  of  an  earthly  meeting,  to 
the  hope  of  one  upon  which  no  parting  should  follow.  And  as 
Mr.  Dacre  had  lived,  so  he  died, — humbly,  thankfully,  and  in 
faith, — his  hands  crossed  upon  his  breast,  and  his  lips  moving 
in  prayer  to  the  Saviour,  in  whose  merits  alone  he  trusted  ;  and 
when  the  last  breath  was  drawn,  not  one  of  those  who  viewed  the 
smile  which  rested  upon  his  worn  features,  dared,  even  for  an  in- 
stant, to  indulge  the  wish  that  would  have  recalled  him  from  his 
deep  repose. 

It  was  a  bitter  trial  for  Gertrude  when  the  intelligence  first 
reached  her.  She  was  then  on  her  way  to  England,  and  the 
latest  accounts  had  been  so  good,  that  she  had  buoyed  herself 
up  with  the  idea  that  the  foreboding  tone  of  their  last  interview 
had  been  merely  the  effect  of  passing  circumstances — that  they 
might  meet  again,  and  that,  perhaps,  it  might  be  granted  to  her 
to  Tie  a  comfort  to  him  in  his  last  days.  She  thought  of  her 
home,  and  longed  to  be  restored  to  it ;  but  the  remembrance  ut 
the  voice,  now  silent,  which  she  had  hoped  would  join  in  wel- 
coming her,  cast  a  melancholy  shade  over  every  anticipation  oi 
pleasure. 

The  arrangements  of   Edward's    property  had    by  this  time 


GERTRUDE.  32ft 


been  made.  Allingham  had  passed  into  other  harms  :  und,  with 
no  fortune  but  that  of  a  name  unstained,  and  resolution  p»renglh- 
ened  by  trial,  he  was  about  to  recommence  his  career  in  life. 
Gertrude  stayed  with  him  till  he  was  settled  in  London,  in  a  small 
house,  in  a  quiet  street,  with  two  servants, — no  carriages,  no 
luxuries,  nothing'  but  the  necessaries  of  life;  and  when  she  had 
seen  him  smile,  as  Laura  occupied  herself  with  domestic  affairs, 
and  laugh  at  the  deficiencies  of  his  establishment,  her  mind  was 
happy.  If  he  had  no  false  shame,  she  had  little  doubt  of  his 
ultimate  success.  And  Edward  was  hopeful  also.  He  knew 
his  own  powers,  but  he  did  not  trust  to  them.  If  the  blessing  ol 
God  went  with  his  endeavors,  they  would  prosper — if  not,  the 
wisdom  of  ages  could  not  help  him.  And  the  blessing  of  Gul 
rests  upon  a  pure  intention,  a  heart  which  will  shrink  from  evil, 
at  whatever  risk,  under  whatever  temptation.  With  AJlinghara 
in  his  possession,  purchased  by  the  relinquishment  of  a  single 
principle  of  right,  his  happiness  would  have  hung  upon  a  thread, 
which  a  single  instant  might  sever;  and  this  he  now  unhesita- 
tingly acknowledged. 

The  moment  was  a  happy,  though  a  trying  one,  when  Ger- 
trude once  more  found  herself  seated  in  the  drawing-room  at 
the  Priory,  her  mother  questioning  her  about  Edward,  and  her 
sisters  crowding  round  her,  as  around  a  newly-found  treasure. 
But  the  pleasure  was  quickly  damped — an  allusion  t<>  Mr.  Dacre 
brought  back  the  full  remembrance  of  her  loss.  Yet  it  was 
only  when  by  herself,  or  with  Edith,  that  she  ventured  to  g 
way  to  her  grief,  for  Edith  alone  had  known  and  appreciated 
him  truly.  To  hear  his  name  mentioned  carelessly  was  a  pro- 
fanation scarcely  to  be  endured  ;  but  it  wms  a  trial  to  which  she 

was  daily  subjected.     A   pers t  Mr.  Dacre's  character  and 

fortune  could  not  die  without  leaving  many  causes  for  curiosity 
and  speculation. 

Every  one  turned  to  General  Forester,  as  the  party  most  in- 
terested in  the  event  ;  and  the  General  attended  at  the  open 
of  the  will,  with  a  self-important  manner  but  ill  concealed  by  an 
affectation  of  regret.  Yet  he  might  have  spared  himself  any 
anxiety.  He  was  remembered,  so  was  his  daughter,  BO  were 
Edward,  ami  Gertrude,  and  Edith,  and  the  housekeeper  and 
servants,  with  kind  expressions  and  small  legacies,  but  the  bulk 
of  Mr.  Dacre's  fortune  was  (.'one.  lie  had  disposed  of  n  during 
the  latter  part  of  his  life,  in  favor  of  some  public  institutions  in 
India,  and  the  church  had  swallowed  up  the  remaining  portion, 
winch  he  had  reserved  for  his  own  especial  need.  Hew.  . 
rich  man,  but  he  died  poor;  no  one  knew  how  poor,  but  th< 
who  had  witnessed  the  increasing  abstemioi  habits, 

and  the  denial  of  what    to    many  would    have    been  only  I 

ries,  after  he  had  decided  upon  the  building  and  endowment  >t 


32(3  GERTRUDE. 


nis  church.  General  Forester's  disappointment  was  keen,  and 
mainly  shown.  Miss  Forester  affected  indifference,  but  not  with 
•ler  usual  success.  The  last  year  had  robbed  her  of  much  of  the 
tnterest  of  her  existence  ;  and  middle  age  was  creeping  upon 
ler  before  she  had  forgotten  the  follies  of  youth.  The  Grange 
was  distasteful,  the  Priory  odious,  Elsham  insipid.  She  spoke 
jf  travelling,  and  her  father  seconded  the  idea.  He  thought  it 
night  amuse,  and  relieve  ennui;  but  it  was  a  delusive  fancy. 
Happiness  lies  in  our  own  hearts,  and  they  who  seek  it  elsewhere 
will  assuredly  seek  in  vain. 

It  was  with  an  involuntary  feeling  of  satisfaction  that  Ger- 
trude heard  of  their  intention  to  leave  the  Grange,  at  least  for 
two  years.  Every  association  connected  with  them  was  full  of 
pain.  She  could  not  endure  Miss  Forester's  inquiries  after 
Laura,  or  the  tone  in  which  she  alluded  to  Mr.  Dacre,  as  her 
late  dear  uncle  ;  and  when,  about  a  fortnight  after  her  return, 
she  understood  that  business  had  called  both  the  General  and 
his  daughter  to  town,  and  that  it  was  thought  they  would  not 
return  again,  the  relief  was  not  to  be  expressed.  Yet,  notwith- 
standing Gertrude's  many  subjects  for  regret,  there  were  some 
changes  in  her  home  circle  which  were  a  source  of  never-ceas- 
ing thankfulness.  Mrs.  Courtenay's  mind  was  not,  indeed,  en- 
larged, but  she  had  become  less  excitable,  less  dependent  upor 
luxuries,  and  estimated  more  deeply  the  importance  of  religiou 
duties ;  and  Edith  and  her  sisters  were  more  united,  more  wil- 
ling to  take  a  common  interest  in  the  poor,  and  to  exert  them- 
selves in  the  schools.  Edith  was  considerate,  and  Charlotte 
softened,  and  Jane  less  wrapped  up  in  herself.  The  difference 
was  not  very  marked,  but  it  could  not  be  hidden  from  Gertrude, 
for  trial  had  brought  with  it  thought,  and  thought  was  maturing 
into  practice  ;  and  as  Gertrude  watched  these  dawnings  of  a 
belter  spirit,  she  thought  that  no  affliction  could  be  overwhelm- 
ing which  brought  such  blessings  in  its  train.  Yet,  when  the 
day  of  the  consecration  arrived,  the  spring  of  her  past  sorrow 
seemed  opened  afresh.  Since  her  return  she  had  never  sum- 
moned courage  to  walk  to  the  heath  ;  and  when  she  stood,  for 
the  first  time,  with  Edith  before  Mr.  Dacre's  church,  the  memo- 
ries which  flashed  like  lightning  upon  her  mind  were  sad  almost 
to  tears.  Allingham  and  its  beauty,  Edward's  ruin,  her  own 
disappointment,  Laura's  illness,  seemed  again  realities;  and  Mr. 
Dacre  seemed  still  near  her — she  almost  heard  his  grave  quiet 
tones,  and  saw  his  deep-searching  eye,  and  sweet  though  sad 
smile  ;  and  then  she  looked  upon  the  beautiful  building  before 
her,  raised  as  if  by  magic  in  the  wilderness,  and  it  was  a  dream 
— a  phantom.  Edith  drew  her  into  the  church,  for  the  crowd 
was  pressing  on.  Through  the  stained  windows  was  gleaming 
t  misty  light,  and  upon  the  clustered   pillars  rainbow  hues  were 


GERTRUDE.  '621 


flickering ;  and  dimness  rested  upon  the  dark  oak  roof  and  the 
raised  chancel — a.  dimness  which  was,  as  it  were,  the  shadow  of 
heaven.  The  building  was  the  type  of  the  spiritual  temple  o) 
God,  and  his  peace  seemed  resting  upon  it.  With  soothed  and 
tranquil  hearts  Gertrude  and  her  sister  took  their  places,  where, 
retired  and  unobserved,  they  might  join  without  distraction  mi 
the  services  of  the  day.  By  degrees  the  church  was  filled,  the 
rustling  murmurs  ceased,  and  the  procession  of  the  bishop  and 
clergy  mcved  down  the  narrow  aisles.  And  then  was  heard 
the  solemn  acknowledgment  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  Lord  of 
Heavenv  and  the  encouragement  to  those  who  with  clean  hands 
and  pure  hearts  would  seek  to  rise  up  in  His  holy  place  ;  the 
exhortation  to  pray  faithfully  and  devoutly  for  the  blessing  of 
God  ;  and  the  entreaty  that  He  would  vouchsafe  to  be  present 
with  those  who  were  there  gathered  together;  that  He  would 
accept  their  service  and  bless  it  with  success;  that  He  would 
sanctify  those  who  in  that  house  should  be  dedicated  to  Him  by 
baptism  ;  that  He  would  keep  forever,  and  preserve  in  the  unity 
of  His  church,  those  who  should  there  renew  their  vows  ;  that 
He  would  fill  with  His  heavenly  benediction  whosoever  should  in 
that  place  receive  the  blessed  sacrament  of  the  body  and  blood 
of  Christ;  that  He  would  give  strength  for  the  performance  of 
the  marriage  vow  ;  grace  to  the  hearers  of  His  holy  word  ;  stead- 
fastness of  faith,  seriousness  and  .sincerity  to  the  penitent  ;  and 
to  all  such  a  portion  of  His  Holy  Spirit,  that  after  serving  and 
worshipping  Him  below,  they  might  finally  be  received  into  Hi- 
presence. 

The  service  proceeded.  The  appointed  psalms,  the  lessons. 
with  the  solemn  words  in  which  Solomon  dedicated  the  Temple 
at  Jerusalem,  the  duly  prayers,  in  which  the  needs  of  the  church 
are  intended  to  be  continually  represented  before  the  throne  "t 
grace;  the  entreaty  that  the  people  of  God  mighl  he  filled  with 
an  awful  apprehension  of  His  Divine  Majesty,  and  a  deep  Bense 
of  their  own  unworthine88  ;  the  assertions  of  the  Apostle,  oi  the 
mysterious  privileges  by  which  Christians  are  made  the  temples 
of  the  living  God  ;  and  the  awful  warning  against  pn  the 

dwelling-place  of  the  Most  I  [igh. 

The    sermon    followed  ;    and   when   it    was    ended,  and  the    final 

prai  •  re  rend  from  the  altar,  Gertrude's  hearl  beal  quickly. 

There  was  one  most  fervent  petition  lor  unity,  and  then  the 
hop  paused.  He,  for  whom  the  next  prayer  Bhould  have  been 
offered,  was  beyond  the  reach  of  intercession.  Lonely  and  child- 
less, he  had  passed  to  his  eternal  rest,  and  the  kindness  which 
he  had  showed  for  the  house  of  his  God,  was  writu  a  among  the 
deeds  which  shall  be  blessed,  nol  on  earth,  but  in  heaven.  I  01 
him  there  was  no  need  to  »e<  k  "  the  peace  that  passelh  under 
standing." 


3C8  GERTRUDE. 

Gertrude  and  Edith  were  among  the  first  to  leave  the  church. 
They  did  not  pause,  or  speak,  or  look  back,  till  they  had  reached 
a  still,  sheltered  spot,  far  from  the  road  which  they  believed  all 
others  would  take ;  and  then  Edith  drew  a  long  breath,  and  in  a 
low,  half-broken  voice  said — 

"  Gertrude,  was  it  a  sinful  wish  ?  The  prayer  was  uttered  foi 
no  one  ; — it  might  have  been  for  you." 

Gertrude's  answer  was  firm.  "  Yes  ;  and  at  that  moment  a 
thought  of  self  might  have  arisen,  and  the  offering  would  have 
been  marred." 


On  the  north  side  of  the  altar  in  Torrington  church  there  is 
inserted  in  the  floor  a  small  brass  plate,  inscribed  with  Mr.  Da- 
cre's  name,  and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  of  his  death.  It  is  all 
that  remains  to  tell  of  him  who  founded  and  endowed  the  beauti- 
ful edifice,  which  is  now  the  admiration  of  the  beholder,  and  the 
centre  of  instruction  and  blessing  to  the  neat  and  orderly  popula- 
tion which  has  sprung  up  around  its  walls.  But  there  needs  no 
earthly  monument  to  remind  those  who  once  dwelt  within  reach 
of  his  bounty,  of  the  friend  thus  granted  for  their  aid.  In  the 
cottage  and  the  hovel,  in  sunshine  and  in  gloom,  beneath  the 
summer's  sun  and  by  the  winter's  hearth,  his  name  is  yet  re- 
membered and  beloved  ;  and  when  years  have  gone  by,  and  the 
great  and  powerful  have  sunk  into  oblivion,  it  may  be  that  the 
light  of  his  example  shall  still  linger  upon  the  earth  ;  for  "  the 
memory  of  the  just  is  blessed." 


THE    END. 


I  NTVEBSm    <>F    (  VLIFORMA    LIBR\m 

Los  Angeles 

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